The Choice
by Saskia Mitchell
Summary: COMPLETE! When Sara must go undercover, will she and Nick end up under the covers? (I think you already know the answer, but the proof is in the pudding!) NSR, eventually.
1. The Choice, part 1

The Choice

By: Saskia Mitchell Van Allen

Rating: PG for now, will probably eventually be an R. 

Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, but to the v. creative people over at CBS, Alliance Atlantis, Anthony Zuiker and of course, the actors who breathe life into the words on a page. I profit in no way from this story. I also would love to eat JF for breakfast, if only she'd let me, dreamy sigh. 

Notes: I've been working on this one for a while, I ordinarily do not write "case" stories, and I also try NEVER to post WIP's, just because I hate getting to the end of the story and realizing it's not the end and I will have to wait another week to find out what happened. However, given the length of this one, and the complexity of the story line, I am forced to do it this way. Hope you enjoy. Posted just in time for CSI tonight...Awww...

"So what did you need to see me about, Ecklie?" Sara smoothed down her pant leg as she for-once gracefully slid into the chair across from the slimeball's desk. 

"As the acting supervisor while Grissom is out, I have discretion in all of the cases during his leave of absence," Ecklie reminded her snidely. 

"Everyone knows that. What about it?" Sara asked patiently. 

"A little situation has come up in Reno which the City of Las Vegas has graciously agreed to assist with." 

"Okay, where's the casefile?" 

"Not so fast. They've asked for a detective, a female. As you know, Detective Alvarez is on a professional leave of absence, and Detective O'Reilly is pregnant. Which leaves exactly two criminalists available for the task." 

"Two? You have two women on day shift, that makes four," Sara volleyed. 

"You know, Grissom may put up with your spoiled bitching, but I won't. My team is busy solving the crimes in Las Vegas." 

Sara clenched her teeth. "Catherine is team leader while Grissom is out. So that leaves me. Just hand over the casefile." 

Ecklie smirked as he tossed the folder in her general direction. Paper scattered, and Sara rolled her eyes before reaching for it. Sara opened the file. She glanced through the case notes. 

"I want a partner. My pick," she demanded. 

"We only have the authority to send one," Ecklie rubbed his greasy hands together. 

"A partner or I won't go," she said simply. "A male, from the night crew. I mean, after all, your team is solving all the cases, right?" 

Ecklie narrowed his eyes. 

Sara's mind raced. Nick or Warrick? Warrick or Nick? 'Rick or Nick, NickorRick? "CSI Three Stokes," she announced, hoping she sounded confident. 

"Fine," Ecklie rolled his eyes. He really couldn't spare another one from the night crew, but he didn't want to tell her that. 

"I hope you realize Grissom is going to be pissed about this when he finds out," Sara informed him haughtily. 

"Well, then I guess it's a good thing he isn't here," Ecklie snarked.

Sara snarled at Ecklie, but didn't say anything else. At least she wasn't going in alone, which is exactly how Ecklie would have had it if he hadn't been under pressure to get her to agree. Sara left Ecklie's office with a bounce to her step. Being hired out was no fun, but she wasn't going to let Ecklie know that. In fact, she was determined not to complain, ever. 

"Undercover?" she whined. Nick kicked her under the table. 

"As I was saying, CSIs, the female police officers of Reno, Nevada are being assaulted and raped. Six have been treated at St. John's hospital for sexual trauma within the last four months. IA is at a dead-end, they suspect that it is internal, but have no viable suspects. None of the women will talk," the sheriff tossed his copy of the file on the conference table where Nick, Sara and Catherine were gathered. 

"So you want Sara to go in as a new hire?" Catherine asked, dubiously. 

"CSI Sidle is unfortunately, the only female officer available for this task. And according to Ecklie, Sidle had volunteered. The State of Nevada thanks her for her service." 

"But Sar…CSI Sidle doesn't have any experience as a detective," Catherine pointed out. 

"But CSI Stokes does. Which is why he will be joining CSI Sidle in this case. CSI Sidle will work from the inside to gather forensic evidence and testimony from the victims," the sheriff turned back to the criminalists. He handed them dossiers, and continued, "You will pose as husband and wife. CSI Sidle will join the force Monday as Mrs. Mary Sark. You served on the Birmingham Alabama police force in Vice for eight years. CSI Stokes will be Mr. Sam Sark, president of Sark International, a foreign-based toothpaste manufacturer. You've transferred out to Reno to care for your dying mother. Any questions?" 

"How long?" Sara asked, glancing through her dossiers. 

"That all depends, CSIs. Your handler will be Bryce Caldwell. Officer Caldwell will be contacting you once you arrive in Reno. You have an apartment there, you will immediately begin building rapport with the female detectives and officers." 

"Rape victims don't just crack like nuts. This is going to take time, serious time," Sara advised. 

"Try hard," the sheriff responded dryly. "We have a limited amount of time before the Reno Rapist chooses another victim. Officer Caldwell has prepared these files to brief you, read them before you leave." The Sheriff gave them each significant looks before leaving. 

"He has no respect for those women!" Sara said as soon as he had left the room, her voice dripping with venom. 

Nick put a calming hand on Sara's arm, and Catherine was surprised that Sara settled down after taking a deep breath, and going back to reading the dossier she had been given. 

"You don't have to do this," Catherine offered, experimentally. 

"I volunteered because Ecklie was being a dick. I can't back out now," Sara argued. "Besides, Nick will be there. I'm not going in alone. Can you do it? I mean, run the unit without us?" 

"Looks like I'll have to," Catherine raised an eyebrow as a challenge, but then rose to leave before Sara could respond. As the glass door closed behind her, Sara and Nick immediately put their heads together. 

"Sorry about volunteering you." 

"I'd rather be there with you than here working cases," Nick winked. 

"I wonder how much preparation we'll be getting from Officer Caldwell," Sara mused. She sighed, reading her dossier. No children, infertility. Married to Sam Sark eleven years, right out of...oh, good, college. Hmmm, Duke. Not a _bad_ cover story, BS in Criminal Justice? Next to her, Nick laughed. 

"What?" Sara leaned over his arm to read his profile. 

"Sam Sark, married to Mary Sark for eleven years. Graduate of Duke University, BS in Mathematics," Nick chuckled again. "I sure hope I won't be expected to use that numeric, mathematically-oriented brain." 

"Plane tickets," Sara pulled hers out of the file folder. "Tomorrow, eight p.m." 

Nick looked at his watch; "We have thirty six hours." 

"I have to call my mother," Sara sighed heavily. 

"I guess I should call Katie," Nick closed his file and rose to leave. "I'll pick you up at six tomorrow, _honey_." 

Sara glared as he left, then also gathered up her coat to depart. 

Nick stored his carryon baggage above their heads, plopping into the seat next to Sara, who was nervously clutching the big red bag that served as her purse for most occasions.

"I hate flying," she confessed. "I mean, I really hate it." 

"You wouldn't hate it if you knew how to multitask," Nick winked as he popped chewing gum into his mouth. 

"If you're referring to the infamous mile high club, I wouldn't know anything about that," Sara replied primly. She wondered if Nick had had his share of airplane bathroom nookie. Surely he didn't know about her indiscretion with the campus stud? She reminded herself that only Grissom knew of that little debacle and she knew he wouldn't be telling anyone anytime soon. Wherever he was. 

"Would I imply such a thing?" Nick tried his best to look scandalized. Sara rolled her eyes and pulled out the in-flight magazine. She figured she'd have plenty of time to talk to Nick before this whole affair was over. She was grateful when he conked out about six minutes into the flight. His light snoring let her know what his idea of "multitasking" was. Sleeping and eating were two things Nick could do anywhere. 

Sara was surprised when she awoke to the sound of the captain's voice. They were in the process of preparing to land, and Sara shook Nick awake to look over the gaudy lights of the Biggest Little City in the World. He sleepily nodded his head, then spent the rest of the flight attempting to re-hydrate his contacts. 

They left the plane and made eye contact with a very suave young man who was leaning against the wall across the terminal. 

"Mr. and Mrs. Sark?" he stepped forward to address them and Nick nodded before pulling Sara close protectively. 

Bryce Caldwell appeared as if he hadn't noticed. In reality, he was taking in every action of the couple before him. Stature, height, posture, body language, voice quality, tenor and diction. Clothing, weight, grooming, and manner of dress. Mannerisms, inflection, volume and tone.

"Your luggage?" Bryce Caldwell led them to the baggage pick-up area, then out to the parking garage, where a rental car was waiting for them. Sara was glad to let Nick take the front seat; she used the time to observe Officer Caldwell. He was a tall man, with muted blonde hair and eyes that were a very light gray, almost white. He had strong shoulders; well-defined arms peeked out from the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt. His tie had been loosened, slightly, and his slacks were a bit rumpled. Sara wondered how long he had been on the clock. 

The ride to the apartment complex was short and yet tedious, for Officer Caldwell did not utter a single word the entire time. Nick grabbed their suitcases from the trunk, while Sara took both her bag and Nick's small duffel. They followed the IA officer into the house, and watched as he proceeded to make himself home at the kitchen table. He spread his files out, and seemed to be paying no mind to them. 

Sara raised an eyebrow, then followed Nick into the bedroom. They looked around, acclimating themselves. One bedroom, adjoining bath. A small den with a couch and a desk with a laptop. The living room was spacious and clean, with an open dining area and a small kitchen. Sara laid her suitcase out on the bed and opened it, watching Caldwell busily sign papers. Out of the corner of her right eye, she saw that Nick was hanging things in the closet. She nonchalantly sidled over to the door and stepped in, closing it behind her. 

"Strange," she muttered. 

"Yeah," he agreed. 

"And smart." 

"Trying to draw us out."

"How do you want to play this?" she deferred.

"Good cop, bad cop?"

"He won't take the bait."

"That's true," Nick conceded. 

"Maybe we don't need to play him. After all, he is here to help us." 

"But he's IA. He's in this to break people down." 

"IA is not a bad thing, inherently." 

Nick lowered his voice. "They question the integrity of good officers." 

"That's why we're here. To protect good officers and smoke out the bad ones." 

Sighing, Nick nodded. A creak from outside the door forced their hand. 

Sara threw open the door. "What spacious closets, Sam!" 

Bryce Caldwell didn't look surprised. He didn't have any expression at all.

"I'll finish unpacking," Nick said brightly.

"You don't have to impress me," he advised Sara gruffly as he followed her out to the kitchen.

"We're in character, Officer Caldwell," Sara said smugly. 

"Well, then I assume you have memorized the case file," he pursed his lips. 

"About as memorized as their gonna get," Nick called from the bedroom. 

"Your objective," he addressed Sara, "is to gain rapport with the female officers. Surveillance, gathering forensic evidence, attempting to get taped statements from the witnesses, and of course, to serve as bait for the Reno Rapist."

"I understand my objectives," Sara responded seriously. 

"You will meet with IA Officer Clemmons tomorrow for a refresher course on weapon-less defense." 

"I am well-trained," Sara argued. 

"Regardless, you will not know how the suspect will attack next. I want you to be prepared for any situation. It's your job to find the Rapist, and it's my job to keep you safe." 

"I thought that was my job," Nick stepped out from the bedroom and closed the door. 

"Yes, Officer Stokes, you are here to assist Officer Sidle in her pursuits. You will not, however, make contact with the victims, or personally accompany Officer Sidle during victim interviews. You will be working with me, conducting the investigation externally, independently of CSI Sidle." 

"Officer Caldwell..." Sara began. 

"Bryce," he corrected. 

"Officer Caldwell," Nick broke in, "we're not police officers. We're criminalists." 

"I am well versed on your backgrounds. You will be Sam and Mary at all times, beginning tonight. Sara, you had the right idea by practicing. Even when you are alone together, I recommend using your alias's to keep you focused." 

Sara shivered at the use of her given name by this officious man, and Nick regarded her with a sharp look.

"Mary has a hearing aid, this will allow her to hear you at all times, which will be particularly important during surveillance. Mary, you will wear the listening device whenever you are in the field, no exceptions. You can turn it off, using this small switch. You and CSI Stokes will also be issued cellular phones. The hearing aid, however, is key. Forget it, and it could make you." 

"I understand," Sara answered grimly, taking the small box from him. Bryce Caldwell held the box in such a way that it was impossible for Sara to avoid touching him as she took it from him. It gave her a small shiver to touch his clammy skin. She pulled the box into her lap, and Nick's warm finger grazed the back of her hand to reassure her. 

"I will leave you now," Officer Caldwell stood and pointed at the wall phone, "You can access me at any time by dialing 611."

"611," Nick repeated, "I think we got it." He stood to escort Officer Caldwell to the door. 

"I will be back tomorrow at eight p.m. to instruct you for Monday morning," he nodded at Sara, who didn't react. Nick locked the door behind him and came to sit across from Sara. 

"Creepy," he muttered. 

"Hmm," Sara mused, staring into space. 

"Hey," he reached out and touched her hand again. She shook from her reverie, but didn't pull away. "You going to be okay?" 

"Yeah," Sara smiled bravely. 

"I know how these cases get to you," Nick said consolingly. 

"I'll be fine," Sara reassured, standing up. "You want to hit the sack?" 

"Together?" Nick raised his eyebrows. 

Sara suddenly looked very worried. "Nick, I didn't even think about it before. There's only one bed!" 

"Hey, hey," Nick stood also, shaking his head. "Don't worry, there's a couch in the den, I'll crash there." 

"That'll be uncomfortable," Sara argued. "You sleep there one night, I'll sleep there one night, and we'll alternate." 

"Not necessary," Nick smiled. He didn't know if he could keep it together, sleeping in the same bed that she had slept in the night before, smelling her on the sheets, the pillows. He was, after all, only human, and Sara was very, very desirable. 

"I'll insist," she promised as he propelled her towards the bedroom. He grabbed his duffel bag and went into the bathroom, leaving her sitting on the bed. When he came out, she was in the same position, only she was holding a very brief cotton shift that he assumed was her nightgown. 

"Shower's yours," he watched her look up at him, dumbfounded, then mutter before standing and disappearing into the bathroom. Sara stood under impossibly hot water, working out the tensed muscles in her neck. She didn't know how she was going to hold it together, watching Nick strut out of the bathroom every night, the bathroom that they shared, with only that white cotton towel tied around his hips; his fresh, clean skin begging to be... 

'Snap out of it!' Sara mumbled as she rinsed the conditioner from her hair and the lingering soap from her skin. Drying off in the bathroom, she shimmied into her nightgown before exiting. Nick was nowhere to be seen. Sara brushed her teeth and then fell into bed, determined not to think about Nick. And she didn't. She fell right to sleep. 

ABSOLUTELY TO BE CONTINUED…and soon, I'm sure. 


	2. The Choice, part 2

The Choice, part 2

Sara awoke in a cold sweat, sitting straight up in bed, screaming soundlessly. Her heart wrenched in her chest, and she was sure that she was dying. She looked down at her hands, watching them fluoresce and shake. She knew her brain wasn't getting enough oxygen, but she just couldn't seem to _breathe_. 

"Sara!" Nick's frantic voice was right outside the door, and he didn't wait for a reply. The door flung open, and Nick stood at the threshold for only a moment, taking in heaving gulps of air. He hurried over to bed and sat in front of her as she struggled to stay conscious. Nick grabbed her shoulders when she didn't reply, shook her. The panicked look in her eyes let Nick know she wasn't breathing. 

Nick pulled her off the bed, supporting her limp body from behind as he pulled them into a standing position. He pulled a hand around her belly briefly, then pulled her arms upward over her head. Every inch of him was pressed against her, supporting her like a splint on a broken bone. His hands were wrapped around her wrists, his arms cased hers, her back was pulled taut against his chest, and his feet were on the inside of hers, keeping her upright. 

She gasped, finally, and Nick was relieved that she was finally taking in air. 

"Breathe, honey," he encouraged silkily behind her ear. "Deep breaths, that's it, you can do it. You're not dying, you're not dying, just breathe." 

She struggled, wheezing, and Nick didn't let her go, even though she was writhing in his arms like a fish. He couldn't let her go. 

"In and out, Sara, don't fight me. In and out...in and out...in and out…don't fight, see? Calm, calm, sweetheart. Slow, calm," he whispered. "Feel your heart slowing down, Sara? Feel it, you're not hurt. You're not dying. Slowing, slowing, it's not going to stop." 

Sara trembled in his arms, and when she seemed more sturdy, he gently let their arms fall down to their sides. He wrapped his hands around her waist, determined to make sure she was breathing more regularly. There was a steady in-and-out, and as it slowed, he stepped away from her. 

Sara sat down onto the bed, hard, and Nick sat next to her, with a firm hand between her shoulder blades. Hot tears were coming down her cheeks, steadily, and she buried her embarrassed face in her hands. 

"This case is already getting to you," he said, not unkindly. "Maybe we should just call Officer Caldwell and tell him you're not the one. It's not too late." 

Sara was already looking up, shaking her head. "I'm the v-victim's last v-voice. I'm the _only_ one that can speak for these women. The only one who can understand." She bit her lip, knowing she'd already said too much. 

Nick looked at her sharply, not answering her. 

"I can't give up before I've ever started. I can't, I won't, " she insisted, turning to face him. "I'm fine." 

Nick nodded gruffly, noticing for the first time the way her dark hair framed her flushed face. Her bright eyes shone with vehemence and something deeper, something Nick couldn't place, and didn't know if he wasn't too afraid to. The curve of her unbound breasts was evident under her sports bra, and Nick could see the barest hint of cleavage. He shook himself. He couldn't believe he was thinking about his best friend this way. His best friend, who'd just had gone through a very traumatic panic attack. 

Her little shorts were riding up on her bare thighs, and Nick found to his dismay, that he was growing hard. He stood quickly, gave her a very brief squeeze around her shoulders, and turned from her as he began to walk away. 

"Nick?" she called as he reached the doorframe. 

He turned, hiding his lower half around the wall. "Yeah?" 

"Thanks, for coming in. I'm sorry." 

Nick shook his head, brushing her apology aside. He turned to go back to his room, and flopped onto the leather sofa with a deep sigh. His erection was painfully hard in his shorts, and he knew he would have to take care of it before he would be able to go back to sleep. Reaching for the tissue on the windowsill, he brought them around close. He proceeded to slip his hands down into his boxers and stroke himself to oblivion. 

In the next room, Sara lay awake restlessly. It had been years since she'd had a panic attack as bad as that one had been. Triggered, no doubt, by memories, flashes, whispers on the wind. Her subconscious trying to tell her to back out _now_, back away fast. Sara would be damned if she'd do it, though. And probably damned if she didn't, too. 

Nick had come in, riding to her rescue like a damn knight in shining armor. She knew he loved to play the role, play the hero. What she didn't know was why it hurt so much to have him stand so close, treat her so tenderly. Was it just because she knew it was all part of his nature, his game, his style, as a seducer? Make the ladies faint at your feet; it makes it all the easier to carry them to the bed? She shook her head at herself. Nick didn't think about her that way. Now that she thought about it, since that whole thing with that call girl, she couldn't recall him treating any girl that way. 

She sighed deeply; knowing sleep wasn't coming any time soon. She just needed to _relax_. Relax, and let go. Confused, and not quite sure why she was doing it, she gently pinched her clothed nipples. Now that felt good. Letting go...

Sara slid a hand down into her boy shorts, feeling herself grow aroused at this prospect. She quickly made herself come, then stumbled towards the bathroom to wash her hands and her face, which was still sticky from her tears. As she went back to bed, she cracked the window to air the room out. She very slowly drifted back to sleep.

"Officer Sark, welcome," the burly Captain shook her hand forcefully. His barrel chest and handlebar mustache reminded her a bit of Santa Claus. He filled in his uniform the way Brass would, if he ever wore one. She smiled and shook back, and noticed that he was investigating her hearing aid. 

"Hard of hearing," she answered his question and he flushed. 

"Yes, er...right this way, the other officers are waiting in the conference room." 

He led the way back, past the bullpen, past detectives at desks yelling into phones, and file cabinet after file cabinet. Hadn't they heard of computers in Reno? She continued to smile, and nod gregariously. If Nick could see her now, he would laugh his face off. Sara wasn't a smile and nod type, never had been. But she could play a role, and damn well, if she had to. 

As she entered the large conference room, she realized that what she had been dreading all along wasn't so bad. Plenty of smiling faces, some guarded, but friendly, and not a single openly hostile gaze. 'These are the victims,' she reminded herself. Sara immediately began scanning faces, memorizing features and expressions, committing them to memory. 

"This is Detective Sark. Sark is joining us from Birmingham, Alabama, where she worked Vice for eight years. Since Detective Merritt is out for an indeterminate amount of time, Sark will be heading Vice. Each of you will spend a day with Detective Sark until she knows her way around Reno. Any questions?"

None imminent, so the captain excused himself and hurried out. Sara could tell he was a man of few words, and that the very few he did say were embarrassed. As he left, conversation rose in the room and almost immediately the officers slipped into their little cliques, seamlessly sliding from chairs into small groups. 

"Mary, I'm Edna," a booming voice came from just off her shoulder, and a huge hand clapped her back. The hand then came around to shake hers exuberantly, and Sara felt her teeth jarring. 

"Good to meet you, Edna," Sara gave her most charming smile to perhaps the largest woman she had ever seen. Edna Matthews was six foot two, easily two hundred and seventy five pounds, with long, beautiful hair sawed off into a mullet. Her cheerful green eyes showed Sara that this woman was not a victim. 

Looking around at the butch women in the small circle of people behind her, Sara searched their faces, looking for traces of fear, humiliation, anger, anything. Nothing. They were all smiling at her like the cat that ate the canary. Sara realized with a start that she had her hair pulled back, a sports bra tightly binding her breasts to her chest, and her pants were baggier than usual. These women probably assumed Sara was another Family member, and it wasn't that Sara minded at all, she just wondered what they would say if they knew she had masturbated only last night after her...encounter with Nick. She smiled graciously at all of them as introductions were made, and then glided to the next group. 

"Officer Sark, this is Davis, Hancock and Reinhardt," a toe-headed man of maybe twenty-one shook her hand, then introduced himself as "Caldwell." Sara rose her eyes, which prompted the boy to say, "you've probably heard of my older brother Bryce. He's IA here, and our Father used to be the chief of police. They call me Junior." 

The other guys in the group looked just as young and as fun-loving as the younger Caldwell. All of them save Davis had bright blonde hair; his was as black as coal. They jostled her jovially when she told them she wanted to see the real streets of Reno. All promised to show her a good time. Feeling no unnatural vibes coming from this group of barely-more-than-boys, she moved to the next group. 

Clustered by the file cabinet in the corner of the room, was a small group of women with their heads together as if they were in a huddle before the big game. They immediately ceased talking when Sara got close. She ambled up, and extended a friendly hand for another round of hand shaking. 

None of them would meet her eyes for more than seconds at a time, and most had something clutched in front of their chests: notebooks, a purse, a receipt log. 

"I'm Mary Sark," Sara said quietly, easily conforming to the situation. 

"Kelly Leads," a blonde woman of about twenty-five, pale gray eyes that reminded her of Bryce Caldwell. 

"Mackey Charles," the only black woman of the group, and absolutely the most stunning. Her colored contacts gave her bright green eyes, for which she used to inspect Sara for only a moment for ducking her head again. 

"Lacy McReynolds," the next officer said, pointing at her badge. Officer McReynolds had a tight, toned body that filled out her uniform in a way that made Sara wonder if she shouldn't just cross the fence, and fulfill that fantasy. Long, luxurious red hair was primly tucked into a bun, no make-up on the face of a woman who obviously took care of herself. 

"I'm Danielle Steel," the last woman said. "Go ahead, you can kid me about it. Most people do," she rolled her eyes, but still didn't make contact with Sara's. 

"I wouldn't kid you," Sara answered seriously. She took in Danielle's appearance, also muted; while the other three women were drop-dead gorgeous; Danielle was just pretty, and almost chubby. Her hair dark was down, obscuring her face. This was her group of victims, women who were beautiful, built, and looked, for lack of a better word, straight. Women who couldn't meet her eye, women who had been tortured. She wanted to hold each of their hands, hold them as they cried, commiserate. 

To avoid arousing suspicion, she continued to move about the room, meeting the older group of male officers, which accounted for about fifty percent of the officers present in the room. Every single one looked like her dad, old enough, and as jolly as these stiffs were ever going to get. Most of them had a bulging waistline, and more than a few smelled heavily of cigar smoke. She immediately bonded to this group, shaking hands, making easy friends. Her grin was huge as she stepped away to greet the last few stragglers. 

"I'm Mary Sark," she took the hand of a delicate-looking flower of a woman who had the eyes of another victim, but with one last burst of spunky courage.

"I'm Officer Maxwell, you'll be riding with me today," she held up a small calendar, in which her own name was penciled in. "Most everyone calls me Max." 

"You can call me Sark," Sara nodded, seeing something in Max that she hadn't seen in the other girls. Sara immediately surmised that this was the first woman to have been attacked, because that pale shining in her eyes was vengeance. Sara rounded up her tour by meeting a small effeminate male who proudly proclaimed, "I work in records." 

"Shall I call you that?" Sara grinned as she answered. 

"Huh?" he looked genuinely confused. 

Sara clarified by saying, "Do you want me to call you Officer IworkinRecords?"

He blushed, then gave a little giggle before saying, "Officer Pemberly." 

"I'm Detective Sark," Sara ribbed him good-naturedly. She could tell from his flighty manner that he was a dingbat in all senses of the word. He had floated off before she could look up again. Sara went back to Max, and together, they left the station house. 

Sara slid into the passenger seat of the patrol car, and waited for Max to get in beside her. Max buckled up and looked over to make sure Sara was buckled also, mostly out of habit. 

"Do you have a partner?" Sara asked immediately once Max had started the ignition. 

"My partner is out on a leave of absence," Max said, her voice heavy. She stared straight ahead as she pulled out into traffic and Sara saw her jaw clench. Sara realized with a start that Max wasn't a victim. She was just an angry bystander who was watching her partner suffer; knowing there was nothing she herself could do. 

Max continued, "I've been working the phones since she's been out, but we're patrolling today since you are with me." She flashed her lights at a passing speeding car, which immediately slowed to a crawl. 

"Do you like working in Reno?" Sara asked, looking out the window at the flashing lights of a casino. 

A long silence ensued, which Max finally answered by enigmatically saying, "I used to." 

"What changed?" 

"The people. My feel of the town," Max squinted, then found her sunglasses tucked into the visor and put them on. 

"How long have you felt this way?" Sara asked, concerned. 

"A while," Max answered, non-committal. Another silence. 

"Have you thought about moving on, transferring?" 

"Sometimes," Max laughed low, bitter. "But I always told my partner we were stuck like glue, I'd always be here for her. And now she needs me, so I can't leave. Plus, Bob just got promoted at the plant, and my youngest is going through high school. It'd be cruel to take him out before he graduated." Max turned the corner onto a side street, and passed ghetto apartments and several small houses before coming to some older brick homes. 

"Where is your partner now?" Sara pushed. 

"Des Moines, right now. It's where she grew up," Max turned another corner and pulled up to a small shack with a hand-painted sign that read 'Manuel's.' "She'll be back, soon enough." 

"Well, I'm sure you'll be glad to get back on the streets," Sara said brightly as they both got out of the car. 

Max's pale lips were pinched as she looked at Sara over the cop car. Sara couldn't see her eyes, but she imagined they were narrowed even so. 

"Let me tell you something, Detective Sark. Something bad is going down in Reno, and I figure you're here to find out what it is. Well, so am I. My best friend in this world was left for dead, and I'm not going to rest until I find out who did it." 

Sara felt a small chill when she saw Max's hateful grin. 

"C'mon. Best breakfast burritos in town," Max slammed the door of the cruiser and walked away. 

"How was your first day at work, _dear_?" 

"Oh, just divine, _honey_," Sara muttered sarcastically, as she dropped her bag on the floor next to the foyer. As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, she saw Nick was standing with Bryce Caldwell, who did not look amused. 

"Oh! Officer, I'm sorry," Sara ducked her head, embarrassed. 

"No apologies are necessary," Caldwell smiled with his teeth. Caldwell stood, staring at Sara's small form until Nick very bluntly cleared his throat. 

"Sam indicated to me that he wished he could hear your conversations at several points during the day, so I have arranged for you to carry a small microphone, and for Sam to have a listening device also," Caldwell illustrated by holding up a small earpiece and tiny speaker. 

"Goody, can we get him something that reads my mind, next?" Sara asked, reaching into the refrigerator for a bottle of water. Officer Caldwell gazed at her blankly, while Nick rolled his eyes. 

"Forgive her, Officer. She's cranky when she isn't hydrated," Nick stared at her pointedly. 

"You will immediately begin implementation, subject to adjustments," Caldwell continued formally. 

"Thank you, Officer," Sara said, taking a big gulp of water. 

"Bryce, I insist," he smiled. 

"Bryce," Sara repeated, her own smile weak. 

"Officer Caldwell, we were just about to start dinner," Nick interjected, seeing that Sara's patience was already thin. 

"I can't stay," Caldwell announced, as if he'd been asked. He turned to Nick and behind his back, Sara crossed her eyes comically. Nick escorted him to the door and bid him goodbye, locking it behind him. 

"You could have mentioned he was here," Sara provided Nick with a firm slap on the arm. 

"Ow, worker's comp. Employee abuse." 

Sara's mind was already leaping. "What smells so good?" 

"I, Madame, made sesame tofu and sesame chicken." 

"You can cook?" Sara's nose rose to smell the aromatic air. 

"Food Network, Channel 47." 

"Hmmm, maybe this won't be so bad. Working undercover with the Iron Chef," Sara jostled him playfully. Suddenly, she realized that she and Nick were standing very _very_ close. Sara took a giant step backwards and laughed nervously. 

"I'll just go set the table," she babbled. 

"It's already done. Just go sit down, this is almost ready," Nick instructed, and watched as Sara sat down at the table, for once, not arguing with him. Nick brought the steaming pan over, and scooped her dinner out onto her plate. He bogarted the rest for himself, digging in eagerly once he'd seated himself across from her. 

"So how _did_ your first day go?" 

"Fine. I heard you on the way to the station, very cute." 

"I do try," Nick winked. "What did you learn?" 

"Found the victims, easily. At least six, including the chief of Vice, and a Traffic cop on LOA. Her partner Maxine "Max" Maxwell is bent on revenge, we rode together today. She made it very clear she knew why I was here and gave me the distinct impression she wouldn't tolerate my presence if I was counter-productive to her own investigation." 

"I see. Did anyone else seem suspicious of you?" 

"The other victims? No. According to the file, most of the Force is unaware of the problem. None of the women will talk, to anyone. The only evidence they have are rape kits, and six identical statements to the hospital staff that it was consensual sex."

"No other unusual activities?" Nick questioned. 

"Not so far. I have a group of kids, males; older cops, also males. There is a group of lesbians, not victims, but they did flirt shamelessly with _moi_, and the victims that are still working, four. And one very flaming Records clerk. Very cute. We should set him up with Greg," Sara grinned as she shoveled in a bite of tofu. 

Nick rolled his eyes again and offered her an egg roll. She considered it for a second, and then declined. He took a big bite of it before asking about the captain. 

"He could barely stand in the room and say two words, much less conduct an entire conversation and then physically assault someone. I could be wrong, but I wouldn't put money on him," Sara answered honestly. 

"I'll check him out tomorrow, just to rule him out," Nick agreed. 

"Taking breaks from the busy world of toothpaste manufacturing?" Sara asked, raising a coy eyebrow. 

"Well, it does get tedious. Screwing on all those caps," he winked. 

Suddenly, Sara wished that wasn't the one thing he was screwing. 

TO BE CONTINUED, I promise. 


	3. The Choice, part 3

The Choice, chapter 3

"How was your day?" Nick asked as Sara came through the front door, looking exhausted. 

"Harrowing," Sara replied dubiously, and Nick chuckled as he handed her a drink. "I rode with Edna all day today, and listened as she very carefully skirted around the gay issue for _hours_. At first, I thought, Edna's older, she's probably a mother figure to some of the officers, I could see where a younger officer, particularly a female, might come to confide in Edna. I think if she had any idea of what was happening, though, she would have told me," Sara admitted confidently. She continued, exasperated. "Instead, she grilled me about my dates in the last ten years of my life." 

"I discovered something interesting as well, though far less fascinating than the topic of Sapphic love," Nick waggled his eyebrows. "It took some serious digging, but I found that Good Captain Yessen has a leather fetish, as well as six documented cases of police brutality. All cases found in his favor, but it is interesting never-the-less." 

At Sara's surprised expression, he hastily added, "I'm looking into it." 

"You and Caldwell?" 

"Actually, surveillance, just me. I'll be home around eleven. Caldwell is coming over later to brief you on Maxwell." 

"Joy," Sara's sarcasm was evident. 

"Hey, now, you've got nothing to worry about," Nick said, as he walked back towards the kitchen.

"I'm not worried," Sara assured him. "Just something about the guy. Too...friendly," she finally surmised, but that wasn't it either, really. Unsettling was the only word leaping to mind, but she couldn't say that to Nick. "His brother is such a nice guy," she called as Nick disappeared into the den. 

"I heard you talking to Edna about him," Nick hollered back. He was only gone for a minute more before he came out of the den looking very edible. Black pants, a tight black t-shirt and a black ballcap to complete the ensemble. 

"Are you doing your surveillance as Batman?" Sara asked, snarky. 

Nick smirked at her as he plopped down in the armchair to lace up his boots. "I left dinner in the oven for you," he mentioned. Sara looked over, not surprised. Nick usually had dinner ready for her when she got back to the apartment every night. Nick came over to her when he was done and Sara stiffened when he braced his hands on the back of the couch, one on either side of her. She relaxed somewhat when he planted a brotherly kiss on her forehead. Briefly Nick wondered if she would slap him silly if he were to duck a little lower and give her a kiss she wouldn't soon forget. 

Backing up, he righted himself and grabbed the keys to the rental car off of the bar. Sara was still a little speechless as he closed the door behind him. Sighing, she rose from the couch and went to inspect her dinner in the oven. It looked like a hot open-faced turkey sandwich, and Sara saw the little note that Nick had written lying on the counter proclaiming it to be 'tofurkey.'

Sighing, she sat down at the kitchen table and had just bitten into her sandwich when she heard the knock at the door. She let Officer Caldwell in, and then went directly back to her dinner. He sat across from her at the kitchen table, and was holding transcripts of the conversations she'd had that Monday with Max. 

"Officer Maxwell is on the threshold of being removed from active duty," he began without greeting. "In the months since her partner's LOA, she has become moody and irritable with the other officers, and insubordinate with her CO." 

"She lost her partner," Sara pointed out. 

"Her partner didn't die," Caldwell responded, bewildered. 

"An LOA can make someone feel just as isolated," Sara argued. 

"My concern is not whether Officer Maxwell is discharged or not. My concern is whether she launches a full-scale private investigation, compromising our case." 

"If her CO understood what has happened to her, he would know how to speak with her!" Sara responded angrily. 

"I don't know how things are in the City of Las Vegas, but we do not baby our Police Force, Detective." 

"It's not about condescension, it's about compassion!" 

"Arguing is fruitless. I am in charge of this investigation, and I am assigning you to a victim interview, tonight. Officer Maxwell has, for all intents and purposes, made you. You are to go in, extract from her what information you can, and determine who comprises her circle of contacts, how wide it is, et cetera and so forth." 

A ringtone blared through the air, and Caldwell reached for the phone clipped to his belt. He turned in his chair sideways, ignoring Sara as he flipped the phone open and put it up to his ear. "Captain Caldwell," he barked. "Tonight. Sark is already out there. Good. No." He flipped his phone closed and turned back to Sara, who was staring at him, open-mouthed. 

"You're the IA _Captain_," she said, numbly, needlessly. 

"Guilty," he smiled. 

"Of course," Sara looked down at her sandwich. Of course he was the Captain of IA, she was stupid not to have known. As if they would leave one of the most potentially damaging cases Reno had seen in years to a rookie. Which made her wonder all the more why they had chosen her. Sure, she had volunteered, sort of, but she had no formal experience as a detective, and Nick only had a little more. She was never the first on the scene; she rarely even drew her gun. Really, hiring out to Colorado or California would have been almost equally as close, and possibly much more effective. She snapped out of her little reverie when she realized Caldwell was staring at her.

"Officer Maxwell should be at home tonight, her husband works the night shift, and her son is at soccer practice until ten," he was all business once more. 

Sara narrowed her eyes, "how do you know all of that?" 

"It's my job to know," he replied, his face expressionless. He handed her the file and picked up his briefcase from the floor, leaving the apartment swiftly, with nary a goodbye. 

Sara climbed up the small set of rickety wooden stairs up to an equally questionable porch. She reached out to knock on the large wooden door, and saw Max's face peek briefly from underneath the cheerful yellow curtains. Max's face was hard when she opened the door. 

"Detective," she deferred, standing in the doorway. 

"May I come in?" Sara asked boldly, flashing Max what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Max didn't smile back. Instead, she took several steps back and allowed Sara to slip past into the foyer. Sara looked around in awe at the inundation of bright pink kitsch on the walls. It was like a nauseating wonderland of schmaltz. "You have a lovely home," Sara said brightly, casting a glance towards the living room, which thankfully, looked less like a craft mall. 

Max allowed her to meander in and take a seat on the couch. Max sat across from her and belatedly offered her a drink, but Sara declined. 

"Listen, Max. I was a little concerned when we talked on Monday," Sara started, knowing this wasn't the way to win Max's trust, but not knowing what else to say. Where was Nick when you needed him? Where was Catherine, with all their charm, and wit and their way with words? 

"What do you care?" she replied, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. She placed another one behind her ear for later. 

"You say you know why I've come to Reno," Sara offered simply, her expression revealing nothing. 

"I don't know anything about anything. I just think," Max blew out a long, thin cord of smoke. Sara sensed Max wanted to confide in her. She also considered plucking the cigarette out from behind Max's ear and lighting up. 

"Well, at the very least I wanted to speak with you about your partner's LOA. You seem very concerned with the situation." 

"What '_situation_'?" Max challenged explosively. "My partner was raped, Sark. Raped and left for dead. I consider that a whole hell of a lot more than a _situation_." 

"Agreed," Sara leaned forward, her eyes shining with vehemence, eager to volley with Max. "Why didn't she report the situation to her CO? Or a detective? Or IA?" 

Max stopped what was gearing up to be a powerful diatribe to suspiciously ask "IA? Why would she report it to IA?" 

"She could have told someone.," Sara bit her lip, knowing she had said too much. Max seemed to accept her explanation, however, and a hurt look crossed her face. 

"I don't know," Max looked helpless for the first time since Sara had met her. 

"She didn't tell you why she wouldn't go to the police?" 

"She wouldn't tell me anything. She called me to meet her at the hospital, she was crying, distraught, confused. Then by the time I got there, she was just as calm as the ticking of a clock. She told me she was sorry to pull me out of bed," Max laughed bitterly. "As if I wouldn't go to the ends of the Earth and back for her, and her for me." 

"She told the hospital staff that it was consensual sex. At what point did she tell you it was rape?" 

"Not until she took her LOA, went back home," Max used the back of her hand to wipe away hot, furious tears. "And those old dykes, making fun of her, saying she just wasn't cut out for the Force, it liked to kill me. As if Edna and those girls could even _conceive_ of the love I feel for Isabel," Max stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette. 

"The love of a best friend," Sara choked out, compassionately. 

Max looked up in surprise to see Sara also emotional.

"The best friend I've ever had," Max agreed. 

"Max, I want to help. I will help," Sara leaned forward, her voice tight. "I need you to help me help Isabel." 

"I don't know what I can do to help you," Max's defenses were back up. 

"I need to know what you know. What information you've gathered," Sara was baldly honest, and she could see the wheels turning, Max considering her proposal. 

"I don't have much," Max finally offered. "No suspects, really. It could be anyone." 

"But you don't think so," Sara read carefully. "Isabel has given you clues, hasn't she?" 

"I have reason to believe it's internal," Max was still cautious. "I've been eliminating suspects." Max rose and went to the antique desk that was pressed against the wall in the far corner and pulled out several sheets of well-worn notepaper. "I've looked over these lists a thousand times or more. The names with dates or times and places have alibis that have been confirmed." She reached behind her ear and pulled out the cigarette and then lit up. She eased herself back into her armchair.

"Thank you, Max," Sara stood and shook the older woman's hand, making a promise with her eyes that would have sounded empty spoken. 

"You know, about ten years ago, my daughter Lollie ran away from home. She was missing six days before the police found her body," Max said hollowly, still sitting. "She was only fifteen, and I thought I would die...I didn't, and eventually I quit thinking about Lollie every minute of every day," she let out a long stream of smoke. "All this stuff, coming up, I've been thinking about her a lot lately. It feels like I've lost her again." 

"I can't save your daughter's life. But I promise, I will do everything I can to save Isabel's," Sara swore. Max nodded and continued to sit in her chair and smoke as Sara let herself out. 

Sara was already in bed, bordering on drowsy, when Nick slipped in with his towel to take a shower. He didn't dally, and he was tiptoeing out when Sara very softly said his name. 

"Shh, I'm done, go back to sleep," Nick muttered as he reached the door. 

"I wasn't asleep," Sara sat up and beckoned him over. He dropped his dirty clothes into the armchair by the door and came over to the bed, sitting on the edge gingerly. "Did you get anything?" 

"A night at home, alone with the missus. He came home, ate dinner, as far as I could tell, watched some television and went to sleep. No visitors, no late night rendezvous." 

"I got some good leads," Sara's dark eyes were shining and Nick felt the almost unbearable urge to tuck back the errant strands of hair from her forehead and brush his lips against hers. "I went to see Max, and I got some useful information, I think." 

"You went in alone, without back-up?" Nick asked, disbelieving. 

"I don't think an interview with Max qualified as a mission needing back-up, but yes," Sara replied dryly. 

"I'm here to protect you, Sara," Nick reminded her softly. 

"Well, take it up with Caldwell. He's the one who sent me over there without you. Did you know he was a Captain?" 

"Yes," Nick's voice was tight, and Sara could see his teeth were clenched. She reached out and ran a light finger along his jaw, and he immediately relaxed. The air grew thick as he gazed at her with a tenderness that threatened to embarrass her. The moment stretched long as he stared at her, his eyes searching her face. She took a deep breath as he leaned forward on the bed towards her. Sara's eyelids fluttered shut, and she parted her lips, sure he was going to kiss her, and not wanting to resist him for another second. Her breath caught in her throat, and she held it for an endless second, feeling his warm breath across her lips and wanting this, wanting him in a way that she couldn't explain. A soft whimper spilled from her mouth, agonizing, but she couldn't lean forward to seal the contact. 

He must have thought better of it, because a second later he moved away. Sara's eyes snapped open, disappointed, and she could see he was struggling with himself, and she wanted so badly to call him back. In the end, she didn't, and Nick bade her a soft goodnight as he left the room. She flopped backwards onto the pillow and let out a soft groan of frustration. 

Why was he rejecting her? Pushing her away, the way Hank had, the way Grissom had. She didn't know how much more her heart could handle. She'd never considered herself one to even care about love and now, she couldn't stop thinking about it. What was it about her that was pushing Nick away, pushing everyone away? It was bad enough that men usually avoided relationships, commitment. What was it about her, why was it so hideous a prospect, sleeping with her, that men had to push her down before running away?

Tears, unbidden, unwelcome, leapt to her eyes, and she brushed them away angrily. 

'You're not here to fall in love with Nick, you idiot,' she berated herself. She'd do well to remember that. This case wasn't about playing house with Nick; it was about catching a rapist. Even knowing that didn't stop the trickle of tears down her cheeks, which soaked into her pillow as she sobbed herself to sleep. 

TO BE CONTINUED...at a later date. 


	4. The Choice, part 4

The Choice, chapter 4

Notes: Sorry the last chapter was so sucky, hope this one is better...

Nick's breath came in quick pants. He controlled his exertion by breathing through his nose, slowly slightly. His tennis shoes pounded into the asphalt biking trail, and occasionally small switches and tree branches grabbed out at his arms. His track pants served a dual purpose: one, he wanted the sweat to pour from his body, cleansing his system; and two, he wasn't sure he was secure enough to let Sara see him in his running shorts, or as he referred to it, his gay man's apparel. 

Hugging the curve of the track, he zigzagged his way through the wooded area, over a small bridge and pond. Speeding, he felt his heart clenching with the pressure and strain of exercise. He loved this, loved running. It was simple, uncomplicated. Going to the gym, pumping up his muscles was entirely for show. The real workout was the five miles per day, meant to keep him lean, limber and ready for anything. 

Just because he wasn't an athlete anymore didn't mean he shouldn't have the athlete's body. He was more toned than most of the cops he knew, a fact in which he took pride. He spent plenty of time on the Dallas Police Force chasing down scum like the Reno Rapist. He spent plenty of time getting to know dark alleyways, and forested areas like this one. He'd seen plenty of crime in his short life. 

Running away from the park, his feet met more solid resistance as asphalt turned into concrete. He fairly leapt up the apartment staircase, and slowly jogged in place out on the balcony to get his heart rate down. It wasn't even six a.m, Sara was probably still asleep. Sara...

She was mesmerizing. Nick couldn't help but think of the night of her panic attack and softly groan. Seeing her so open and vulnerable was a change from the usual tough-as-nails façade he saw every day in the lab. He knew she'd been hurt, like him. It made it easier, feeling for her, knowing they had that connection. 

Sara had been his best friend for so long, he wasn't sure when he started to think of her as anything but. He wasn't sure he would have even realized the fact if it weren't for this case. She'd been on his mind constantly since he stepped off the plane, and he was pretty sure it wasn't just the fact that they were undercover together. 

He loved seeing the small lopsided grin every time she came home to find he'd already made dinner. It was a habit that he'd already established, and enjoyed the rewards much more than he ever thought he would when he started. It was the way his breath caught in his throat whenever she wandered around in her sleepwear—either her cotton shift or her sports bra and boy shorts. Did she know how delectable her body was? How sleek and smooth her curves seemed to him? Even her little bit of tummy made him smile, reminded him she was not perfect and he didn't want her to be. 

He loved the fact that she curled up next to him when watching TV at night, laid her head on his shoulder, allowed him to put a protective arm around her. 

'Get a grip, Stokes,' he told himself. It had been less than a week and suddenly he was imagining that this was what it would be like to come home to her every night. Nick reminded himself that Sara was his friend, and his colleague, nothing more and nothing less. 

His heartbeat gradually slowed, and he let himself back into the apartment silently, and closed the door behind him. Sara was sitting on the couch, drinking coffee and watching the morning news. 

"You could have gotten me up, I would have gone running with you," she smiled, glancing at Nick over the rim of her cup. She hoped the awkwardness from the night before wouldn't linger. Nick smiled at her, and winked, and she felt much relieved. He didn't say anything as he drifted off into the den and then disappeared into her room to take a shower. He was privately amused; he didn't bother to explain that running something or someone out of your system was a lot more efficient if they weren't there. 

When he was dressed, he emerged and found Sara curled on the couch, dead to the world. He covered her with the throw on the back of the sofa and sat in the armchair across from her, watching her sleep. 

Sara was a strange, strange person, by all accounts. She worked herself to death every month, hardly slept, and bristled when anyone tried to get her to take better care of herself. She loved evidence, she loved the lab, and she loved Gil Grissom. Nick didn't know a lot about the relationship that Sara had had with their mentor, but he saw the affectionate gazes between them, Sara's fierce protection of Grissom, and Grissom's less-than-fatherly regard for Sara. He knew they had had some kind of falling-out before Grissom's leave of absence, and Sara had thrown herself into her work again, more than usual. 

Would she ever see Nick as anything more than her friend? Would she ever see the way _Nick_ gazed at her, would she ever see _Nick's_ regard? He supposed not, and he didn't have to wonder why. He was less experienced, and less mature than Grissom, to be sure. But he was also more gentle, more thoughtful, and a hell of a lot more respectful. What exactly did she see in him? 

Nick saw a man who with a few more years tacked on, could be her father, his father, for that matter. He saw a chubby, bowlegged, difficult man who refused to let anyone in, and refused to admit the power he held over his young students, Sara in particular. Catherine had once told him that Sara worshipped the ground Grissom walked on, and Nick had agreed. Now he wasn't so sure. Of all the people that had walked in and out of his life, Sara had been by far the hardest to read. And the most rewarding. 

She'd opened up to him in a way that he never dreamed of upon first meeting her, seeing her prickly countenance. He saw the way she flirted with him, the way he flirted back, but it didn't mean anything. It was an act, just like everything else in those first few months. But then the forced comments and tedious flirting turned in to something more genuine. The easy manner and tone developed from their proximity, and Sara didn't fake it anymore. 

Sara had a true friend for perhaps the first time in her life, and Nick had never been more glad that it was he than when Ecklie pulled him in to give him the assignment of a lifetime. Run undercover to catch one of the worst serial criminals in the history of Nevada. Run undercover with his best friend, his confidante, and they would be unstoppable. The trust between them was unwavering, almost bordering on precognition: anticipating one another's moves before they even made them. They complimented each other they way most law enforcement teams could only hope for. She was the fric to his frac, the scientist to his humanist, the stem to his petal. She at the very least was a foil to his charms, and she didn't take anything he said seriously. He wondered if she ever would. 

"So grocery shopping, lunch, and then what?" 

"I don't know, I was thinking we could either go to a movie or go back to the apartment and take a nap. We're running surveillance tonight, so it may be our last opportunity to sleep for about the next eighteen hours," Nick answered, consulting his watch. 

"Let's go see a movie," Sara's eyes lit up, and Nick rolled his eyes at her seeming boundless energy. Nick pulled into a parking space at Marty's Market, and turned off the ignition. 

Sara began to get out of the car, when Nick stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. He handed her the small box that held her "hearing aid," and watched as she carefully inserted it into her ear, after making sure that it was turned off. She shut the door of the car, and allowed Nick to take her arm companionably on the way up to the front of the store. Nick grabbed one of the small red baskets at the front counter, not relinquishing her arm. 

"What's on the list?" Sara asked, squeezing more tightly around his forearm, but not letting go. 

"Milk, bread, lunch meat. Eggs, coffee, bagels. All pretty innocuous," Nick winked at her, and she found herself amused by his quick wit. They began in the produce section, gathering fresh fruits and vegetables, only what they'd need for the week, and Sara found herself going back to Nick each time, and taking his arm after each foray. He stood with her patiently as she picked out a cereal, and didn't say a word when she decided to inspect the organic food aisle.

As they rounded the corner to frozen foods, they almost ran straight into an oversized shopping cart. A small set of seats were molded on to the handle of the cart, and two small pixies were staring up at them with tiny little faces and squirming bodies. 

"Danielle," Sara greeted her with a big smile. 

"Detective Sark," Danielle's face was obscured by her hair, and she smacked a tiny hand that reached out for a jar of honey on the nearby endcap. 

"Danielle, this is my husband Sam," Sara introduced. "Babe, this is Danielle, she works in Vice with me." 

"Nice to meet you, Danielle," Nick's easy smile put the woman at ease, and Sara saw her smile for the first time. 

"And who are these guys?" Sara kneeled to look into the faces of the mischievous lads who seemed to be giving their mother so much grief. 

"Michael and Monroe," Danielle's hands trembled as she smoothed down their dark hair. "Please excuse me," her voice wavered and she pushed past the young couple on her way down the main aisle of the store. 

"Strange," Nick commented out of the side of his mouth, and Sara agreed by nodding, and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. As they finished their shopping, Sara couldn't help but think about Danielle and the look in her eyes when Sara had asked about her children. 

Nick paid for the groceries and took the bags, and Sara followed him, lost in thought. His hand on the small of her back was the only contact between them, but it was enough as he gently guided them out to the car. 

"Where to?" 

"Cassie...Officer Matanopolous told me about a great cop hangout over on the East Side. We should probably go check it out, just to see. She said it was a barbecue joint called Lucky's," Sara's smiled was forced. 

Nick nodded, but several minutes later, he pulled into the small Jewish deli near the apartment. Sara looked over at him with a look somewhere between grateful and a complete absence of surprise. 

"We don't have to be on the clock twenty-four hours a day, undercover or not," he said, getting out of the car. He came around to her side of the car to open her door for her, and she let him, almost as if they had planned it. Perfectly synchronized. He took her hand to lead her into the restaurant, and didn't let go until they were given plates to raid the salad bar. Steaming bowls of soup were waiting when they arrived at their table.

"Soup in the summer?" 

"Must be a house specialty," Nick sat down across from her and immediately handed her the pepper. "At least it's tortilla."

They ate, and traded stories about high school. Sara couldn't explain why she was pleasantly relieved to find that Nick hadn't been a playboy, and Nick enjoyed hearing her regale him with stories of her life as a teenage science geek. They enjoyed their lunch and the good company, and Sara found that at the end of their meal together, she didn't want to break the connection with anything as trivial as a movie. 

They went back to the apartment, and Sara led Nick into the bedroom, and closed the door behind him. Lying down on the bed, she didn't have to beckon him to join her, and they both lay on their sides, facing one another, talking and softly laughing, until both fell into sleep. 

"Okay, let's go over this again," Nick shined his small flashlight onto the lists they were reviewing. Max had the officers broken up by shift, and then rank. She cleared the sergeants first, then the officers. It looks like there are 7 Captains, 14 sergeants...then the chief, Nick read, distracting himself. "Captain Merritt, of Vice was attacked April 25, is out of a leave of absence. That leaves, Captain Yessen of Robbery/Homicide, Captain Barclay of Patrol and Auto Theft, Captain O'Reilly of Financial Crimes, Captain Caldwell of IA, Captain Peoria of Gang/Narcotics, and Captain Dennis of Special Victims. Yessen, Merritt and Caldwell are cleared through IA." 

"Who cleared Yessen?" Sara asked sharply. 

"Caldwell gave me background information on his misuse of force complaints, all were unsubstantiated, and he has provided alibi information that has been confirmed through IA." 

"Okay, so that leaves Barclay, O'Reilly, Peoria and Dennis. Max cleared Dennis and Peoria on the date of Isabel Shepard's attack, looks like Dennis was at his kid's baseball game, and Peoria was at the City Council Meeting, which would also eliminate the chief of Police, if he hadn't been cleared already. We eliminate O'Reilly based on gender, which leaves Barclay the only Captain unaccounted for." 

"Good," Nick grunted, flipping through pages. "Okay, fourteen sergeants, Hodges and Grievely in Traffic, neither cleared by IA, and Grievely was cleared by Max. Davis and Johnson in Robbery/Homicide, both cleared by IA," Nick stopped speaking, and Sara immediately picked up.

"And cleared by Max," she noted. "Steel in Vice is cleared on gender, which leaves Singleton, who has not been cleared by IA or by Max." She flashed her own light over to Nick's page briefly, and he began speaking again.

"Okay, so Maddox and Pierson in Financial Crimes were both at seminars in Boulder during Shepard's and Merritt's attacks, so they've been cleared by IA and by Max. Lark and Campbell in IA have both been cleared by IA, but not by Max…hmm, interesting," Nick mumbled and began flipping through the pages. 

"Who interviewed them?"   
"Caldwell, he signed off on the reports, it looks like he's reviewed all of this." Nick flipped back to his list, "Okay, moving on, it looks like Hernandez and Alvarez in Gangs/Narcotics have been cleared by IA, but also not with Max."

"Well, Max said she didn't have time to get to everyone. She hasn't eliminated most of the officers. I guess we can just be grateful for the ones she could clear." 

Nick nodded, "Last officers are Zhou and Franklin with Special Victims, Franklin is cleared by gender, and Zhou was in Boston at the time of the McReynolds attack at his daughter's graduation." 

"So officer by officer, that leaves Captain Barclay, and Sergeants Hodges, and Singleton. Plus Officers Hancock, Chin, Chappel, Samson, Lindsey, Kukyendahl, LaLiberte, Marquez, Behr and Yates." 

Sara groaned, "and that doesn't even count all the Admin: budget, dispatch, records, payroll, polygraph..." 

"Actually, look at the addendum to the file," Nick flipped her pages back for her, showing her the list of Officers not in the field. "Only Pemberly in Records and Dixon and Payroll weren't cleared by IA. Max probably never even considered the officers not in the field. All of the victims were attacked during or immediately after their shift." 

Sara brightened, but before she could say anything, her phone rang. 

"Sark...Uh huh...you're kidding. No. Yeah, okay, we'll do it. Thanks." 

"What?" Nick asked, when she flipped her phone closed. 

"You're not going to believe this, but Mrs. Nancy Klinkerman, who's lovely home we are now parked in front of, called up to the police station to report suspicious activity. She seems to think that we're casing the place." 

Nick let out a loud laugh, which filled the car with warmth. 

"I told Caldwell we would take a drive around the block, park on the opposite side of Mr. Hancock's residence, and then be more discreet." 

Nick fired up the ignition, and put the car into gear. 

"He told me if Mrs. Klinkerman calls back, he was going to tell her we were on a stake-out," Sara giggled, leaning back in her seat. Her black ballcap sat snugly down over her ears; her hair tucked through the hole in the back made her look young enough to be in college. "I can't believe he actually has a sense of humor." 

"I don't like him," Nick's brow furrowed. He circled the block and came to park on the opposite side of the street. Sara filed her papers away and set the folders on the dash and eased back down into her seat.

"It's a Saturday night, surely this guy is going to go out," she sighed, puffing out her cheeks and letting her lower lip jut out as she exhaled. 

Nick also put his clipboard on the dashboard and fished around in the console until he found a half-empty bag of trail mix. "Score." 

"I hope that was yours from before," Sara winced. 

Nick winked at her, and went back to the bag. He fished out the raisins in silence. He offered her one, but she declined with a shake of her head. 

"Today was a good day," she finally said, quietly. "I mean, I had a good time." 

"We should hang out more. I mean, when we get back home." 

"We should," Sara agreed, absently. "I would kill to sleep in my own bed again." 

"We're in complete agreement. I never want to sleep on a couch again," Nick professed. 

"Nick, you don't have to, I..." 

"I know you said you'd switch off with me, Sara, but that just doesn't feel right. I just wasn't raised that way." 

"I was going to say you don't have to, that I would share," the words came tumbling out of Sara's mouth before she could stop them. She hadn't really planned on saying that, and yet, out it came. She flushed bright red, and noticed, to her very great embarrassment, that Nick was blushing also. He dug around in the bag for chocolate chips, and studied them intently before eating each one. 

"So," he began finally, desperate to change the subject, hoping to break some of the stifling sexual tension inside the small car. "I know what you were like in high school, and college. But what was middle school like?" Nick's tone has almost reached casually conversational. 

"Why do you want to know?" Sara laughed nervously. 

"Just wondering." Nick popped several small pieces of chocolate into his mouth and looked over at her curiously. 

Sara ducked her head down as she spoke. "I was the belle of the ball. An outrageous flirt," her laugh was caught between amused and bitter.

"What changed?" Nick asked, somewhat distracted as he began rooting around for peanuts. 

"A rape," Sara answered simply, still staring at her lap. Nick looked up sharply, the muscles in his neck and face tightening. 

"Yours or someone else's?" 

"Mine," Sara answered, her voice small.

"How old?" 

"Fourteen." 

"Jesus Fucking Christ!" Nick's fist slammed against the steering wheel. Sara jumped in surprise. "Did you know him?" he demanded.

Sara nodded silently. 

"Who?" 

"Next door neighbor." 

"Did you report it?" 

Sara shook her head no. "I...I'm not the same person I was then." 

Nick shook with a fury that Sara had never seen before, the hate rolled off of him in waves, making him speechless. 

"Please don't hate me, Nick, but I just couldn't. I couldn't..." 

Nick's voice was soft when he spoke again. "Sara, I could never hate you, no matter what. You had to do what was right for you." 

"Then why do I feel so guilty?" Her voice wavered, and she begged herself not to cry. "Why do I feel like I've aided him in so many other attacks and rapes, because I didn't report the first one?" 

Nick didn't have an answer for that, but he pulled her close, his arm tightening around her shoulder. Sara didn't cry, but instead, watched the residence across the street, and sat up ramrod-straight when she saw a woman emerge from the house and step out on to the porch. 

"Max," she whispered softly, watching as Max eased down the steps on the side of the porch and got into her car. She backed out of the drive and proceeded down the street and away from their car. "Damn it!" 

"Do you want to follow her, or stay here?" Nick asked, business-like. 

"Follow her, I'm sure Hancock isn't the one," Sara bounced up on her seat, eager, and Nick put the car into gear, and proceeded to tail Officer Maxwell around the corner. Sara felt more than a little stupid when Max went straight home, and went inside. Ten minutes later, all the lights were off. They mosied back over to Hancock's place, where they found his car still sitting in the driveway, and all the lights were out there, too. 

They watched the place for another hour in near-silence, still on edge from their discovery. What would Max and Hancock be in cahoots about? Particularly since she hadn't cleared his name for the time of Isabel Shepard's attack? Sara mulled the matter over and over in her mind until her head throbbed. 

Sara was already in bed when Nick came out of the bathroom, fresh from his shower. His towel was slung low on his hips, and she could smell the clean scent of Zest soap radiating off of him. 

"Nick?" her voice was tenuous and he could hear the yearning behind that single word. "Please. You don't have to sleep on the couch." 

He came to the side of the bed where Sara lay and eased his weight onto the mattress on one hip. Not saying anything, he reached out for her face, and very gently moved his thumb across cheekbones, then the soft hollow of her cheeks, past her lips and down to her chin. Sara kicked off the comforter that had been pulled up to her waist, exposing her boy shorts and alabaster thighs to Nick's gaze. He closed his eyes at the sight, and tried to regain his strength. 

"Nick?" 

"I can't," Nick opened his eyes to see Sara staring at him, her eyes wide and her mouth a soft "o" of surprise. Nick looked down to see his towel poking up precariously. He nearly leapt off of the bed, startling Sara even more. It was four huge steps to the door, and then he closed it firmly behind him. He made it to the den and closed the door once he was inside, and leaned against it, his breathing ragged. Letting his towel fall, he began to jerk himself furiously, not waiting, not able to do anything but indulge himself. Oh, God...

TO BE CONTINUED, shortly. 


	5. The Choice, part 5

The Choice, chapter 5

Notes: I hope this light rating isn't offending anyone. Let me know, though. Will eventually be an "R" rating. And I don't usually do celeb props, but I have to. If you haven't gone out to buy the new Dido CD, DO IT. It is excellent, she's just as beautiful and jaunty as ever and I relate to every song so well. LOVE IT. 

Sara sighed and cracked her neck as she came through the front door, slamming it behind her with some force. Dropping her big red bag on the floor next to it, she stomped in, rolling her eyes when she saw the note on the counter. This was the sixth night in a row that she had come home to find Nick had already slipped out. Her dinner was in the warm oven, waiting for her, but she was so angry she didn't think that she could eat it. 

It had been almost a full week since her stakeout with Nick, almost a week since he had thoughtlessly rejected her once again. She had specifically requested that he come to Reno, knowing they were friends, knowing he would do anything for her—and she'd managed to fuck it up. She didn't know if she was angrier with him, or with herself. 

He would go running before she woke up, and by the time she got home from work, he was gone, usually to do surveillance on one of their suspects. He'd usually be gone until well after she was in bed and asleep. He'd managed to avoid her completely for six days in a row. She contemplated waiting up for him, as long as it took, confronting him as soon as he came through the front door. But was it even worth it? It was frustrating, infuriating...

She knew he listened to her as she went about her daily business, and she kept her earpiece on constantly, hoping that he would say something, anything. But there had been nothing. 

They'd been so close, several times. At least now she knew it wasn't from a lack of attraction. There was plenty of that. How she'd wanted to call him back. _Oh, Nick...I feel it, too_. But she hadn't, she hadn't said anything. They had been a breath away, and she just kept letting him go. 

She finally got hungry enough, and retrieved her plate from the oven. She sat Indian-style on the couch and began to dig into a huge portion of spaghetti. She was sitting on the couch watching 'Friends' when someone knocked. 

Going to the door revealed Captain Caldwell, looking rakish in a royal blue dress shirt and a gray tie that highlighted his almost-opaque eyes. 

"Captain," she stammered, feeling embarrassed about her jeans and the spaghetti sauce on the front of her shirt. 

"Officer Sark," his voice was as silky as his tie.

"What...What are you doing here?" 

"Case files, seven o'clock?" he looked at his Rolex. 

Sara winced, she'd completely forgotten she'd agreed to meet with him. 

"Shit, sure, come in...let me just...change my shirt," Sara stepped back to allow Caldwell to enter, then pulled the door to the bedroom to as she began rifling through the drawers for a clean shirt. She finally found a semi-unwrinkled button-down that looked decent, so she put it on and took a quick look at her hair. Deciding nothing was to be done about it, she pulled it up into a messy ponytail and turned off the bathroom light. 

Caldwell was standing uncomfortably in the living room, holding the file folders that contained all his case notes. 

"So, the case?" 

Sara took a deep breath and began to sit, but Caldwell jumped in with, "why don't we go have a drink?" 

Sara's eyebrows rose dubiously, and Caldwell continued.

"If you have no objections, I know of a couple of places where we could go to be alone." 

Sara's eyebrows met her hairline. 

"To review the files, of course." 

"What if someone sees us?" she asked. 

"These are private places," he assured her smoothly. 

"If you're sure it won't blow my cover," she accepted his unspoken challenge. 

"A couple of cops, out for a drink. Nothing cover-blowing about it," his smile was full of teeth, and Sara smiled back. Nothing wrong with going out for a drink. Nothing wrong with it at all. 

Sara's buzz was killed almost as soon as she walked through the front door of the apartment. She quietly took her shoes off at the door, a glance at her Timex told her it was after midnight. She tiptoed across the living room carpet, only to be startled by the sound of Nick's voice. 

"Where have _you_ been?" 

"For the love of God!" Sara almost screamed as she whirled around. "Nick!" Her voice was breathy as she held a hand to her chest, as if that would still her rapidly beating heart. Nick was sitting silently in the dark, in the armchair safely tucked in the shadows of the corner

"Where...have...you...been?" Nick enunciated each word carefully, as he leaned forward in his chair. 

"What do you care?" Sara spat before she thought about it. 

"What do I care?" Nick's laugh was bitter. "I care that you could have jeopardized the case. I care that you could have your cover. I care that I don't know where you've been for the last six hours." 

"Is that like every other night when you don't know where I am?" Sara retorted, the alcohol making her brave. 

Nick grimaced. "I always know where you are." 

"Could have fooled me," she muttered. 

"So what if you had been hurt, Sara? What if you had been killed? You want to risk your life, this case, for a little revenge?" 

"Don't flatter yourself!" Sara yelled, angry now. 

"And out with Captain Caldwell," his voice was now low and dangerous. 

"He asked me out for a drink. We talked about the case," Sara felt the absurd need to defend herself, but knew it was the effects of alcohol on her body chemistry, and couldn't help but throwing out, "and it's more attention than I've gotten from you in a week!" 

"You're not here to find a boyfriend, Sara!" Nick shouted back, standing up and stomping over to where she swayed, unsteadily. 

"You bastard," Sara swung out at him, with every intention of just giving him a punch in the arm, but considering her slowed response time, he had her fist pinned against the wall beside her head in a flash. 

"No, but I can be. As the senior officer, I can technically pull rank. And I will if I have to," he whispered very softly. 

"You ass!" she cried again, struggling against the restraint. He loosened his hold of her. "You going to forbid me to see Caldwell? He's our handler!" she pointed out. 

"Yes, he is. And a dangerous guy. Did you know that Caldwell was Robbery/Homicide before he was IA? He had sixteen complaints for misuse of force, most unsubstantiated, some went away, and one witness even disappeared before trial. Now nothing ever came of that, but it's not a man you just go out for a drink with, Sara." 

"What do you care?" she said again, still pinned to the wall, but not fighting it. 

"I care," Nick's eyes were hard and stubborn in the dull darkness of the room. 

Sara realized, even through her alcohol-addled mind, how close he was to her, how good he smelled. 

"I didn't know," she said softly. "You won't tell me, and you won't see me." 

Nick immediately let her go. "Now is not the time for this," he said. 

"Really, Nick? When _is_ the time? Who says you get to be the boss of us?" 

"Sara," he leaned in closely. "There is no _us_. Now go to bed." 

Sara groaned loudly, ungraciously, as he left her standing there in front of her bedroom door. She stumbled into the bathroom and disrobed very unceremoniously before flopping onto the bed. 

The next morning, Sara woke up to find her head pounding. She wanted to throw up, but couldn't find the energy to pick herself up off the bed to go do it. The knock at the bedroom door sounded impossibly loud to her ears. She sat up, groggily, and pulled the sheet up under her arms before calling out "come in." 

Nick faltered at the door, seeing her there, obviously nude under the thin sheet. She rubbed her eyes, knowing her mascara was probably all over her face. He stepped forward and handed her a cup of steaming coffee and a plate with a couple of fried eggs on it. She ate hungrily, not speaking. She washed down about half of the cup of coffee before she spoke. 

"I'm sorry, Nick." 

"Don't apologize," his voice was firm, but gentle. 

"I want to. I was wrong," she admitted, looking down at the empty plate.

"How are you feeling?" 

"Like crap. You?" 

"This, uh, isn't a social call. If you're sober, we have work to do." 

"What?" Sara frowned. 

"Caldwell called me earlier. He wants us at Officer Maxwell's home as soon as possible."

"Max, why?" 

Nick leaned forward and cupped Sara's face in her hands, holding back. She grabbed on to his forearms, searching his face. 

"Her husband called it in, Sara," his voice was soft. 

"No," she argued, shaking her head. 

"There was nothing more that could be done," he continued.

"No! No!" she violently trembled. 

"We have to go now, process the scene," he held onto her, but she broke free and with utter disregard for her state of undress, jumped up from the bed and ran for the bathroom. Nick could hear her throwing up, and he closed his eyes.

He listened as she heaved and heaved, and then started the shower. She was out in three minutes flat, and Nick left the room as she got dressed. Four minutes after that, she was in the passenger seat of the car next to him, clutching her bag for dear life and leaning forward without her seat belt on. She silently urged him forward, faster, faster. 

He arrived at Max's home and stopped on the corner. He made her put in her earpiece, so by the time they pulled up to the house, she fairly bolted out of the car. He drove a half of a block and parked. Willing Sara to turn on her microphone, he realized a second later that she had. He sat back to listen, wondering if she would be okay. 

Three hours later, Sara trudged over to the car where Nick was still sitting, reviewing the case file again. She got in, and Nick shot a concerned look at her, but she couldn't speak. She immediately leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes, swallowing hard at the images flashing before her eyes. 

Nick's heart clenched painfully. He wanted to take her into his arms, so badly, to kiss and touch her and erase the memories of what she'd just had to endure. He wanted to hold her until she fell asleep. He didn't know that they could cross that line as friends. He knew they couldn't. Sara had already been so hurt by his stilted advances, his bumbling and uncertainty. If she'd been one of the dazzling distractions he usually dated, he wouldn't have hesitated in charming her, bedding her, and then letting her go. 

But this was Sara. Funny, real, abrupt, naturally beautiful Sara, who wasn't afraid to argue with him, tease him, frequently torment him... He couldn't wine and dine Sara. He couldn't just bed Sara. It had to be all or nothing, and he was feeling completely out of his element, not to mention fairly inadequate. Sure, Sara had dated that idiot Hank, but she'd been in love with Grissom. 

He couldn't think about this now, he needed to be there for Sara, as a source of comfort and reliability, not some horny jerk looking to get in to her pants. As soon as they got back to the apartment, Sara sat down at the dining room table. 

"Let's go over the case," she looked up at Nick with determination. 

"Sara...we don't have to do this now," he came to the table. 

"No, I want to. I need to," she assured him, smiling softly at his concerned look. "I'll be okay. Come on." 

Nick let out a long sigh, nodded, and brought his file folders over to the table. Sara handed him the packet of photos that had been developed and delivered back to the investigators before they'd left Max's.

Nick opened the packet, and felt sickened as he looked through the pictures. Max had been tied, spread-eagle, and Nick found the items strewn about the room covered with blood perplexing, considering she'd been strangled. He furrowed his brow and reviewed them again. He looked up at Sara, who'd gone stark white. 

"Object rape," she too, looked sick and Nick shoved the photos back into the folder. 

"C'mon, we'll do this tomorrow." 

"Nick, really..." 

"Sara, no. I don't want to do this now, and I know you don't." 

"I can't just sit here and do nothing," Sara argued. 

"You can't burn out, either. Come on, Sara, let's go somewhere and just decompress." 

Sara shut her folder, pushed them across the table away from her. "If we don't do this, what are we going to talk about? I'm tired of this game we are playing, Nick. If you don't want to...it's fine, but I'm just so tired of the way it's been." 

"Sara," Nick's voice was discouraged. "It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I don't want to ruin things. And I definitely don't want to hurt you. And I don't want to jeopardize the case over..." Nick closed his eyes in defeat, "whatever this is." 

Sara softened, stood and went over to the couch, and beckoned him over. He came over and sat down, still hesitantly. As he sat back, she leaned forward, ever so slightly. 

"Let's just be friends," she bit her lip, and then curled in next to him, her head on his shoulder companionably. Nick wasn't sure how long they sat there, or how long he'd been asleep, but when he jerked awake, Sara was asleep, and her arm was wrapped around his middle. He eased back, leaned back, pulling her with him, laying flat on his back and pulling Sara on top of him, curled in the crevice between him and the couch. It didn't take him long to fall back in to sleep. 

When he woke again, it was to the sound of knocking. Sara, always on alert, was already awake and halfway to the door. Nick sat up, and rubbed his tired eyes. 

"Captain Caldwell," Sara muttered before opening the door. Captain Caldwell entered, business like, and went directly over to sit down at the table, his expression solemn. Nick and Sara joined him, sitting on opposite sides of the table. The tension between the trio was thick, and Nick was sure it wasn't just about the tragedy that they had come together to discuss. 

"Any suspects?" Sara finally broke the silence. 

"No," Caldwell reported. "Her husband and son have been ruled out as suspects and witnesses. Husband was at work, son was over at a friend's house." 

"What about Officer Hancock? Maxwell was with him not five days ago," Nick pointed out. 

"We are bringing him in for questioning later this afternoon." 

"Did he break in?" Nick asked, quietly.

"No signs of forced entry," Sara replied, remembering the scene. "She would have had to let the suspect in. Which means it had to be someone she trusted." 

"Or someone she deferred to," Nick sent a confrontational look to Caldwell, but Caldwell ignored him. Sara, too, chose not to acknowledge his snide remark. 

"There is a possibility this was not another attack by the Reno Rapist. There is always the possibility this is a random home invasion," Caldwell said. 

"Too coincidental," Sara dismissed. "Max was caught right in the thick of this. If it wasn't the Reno Rapist, then..." her voice suddenly wavered, and a dawning realization came to her eyes. 

"What?" Nick immediately sensed the change. "What?" 

"What haven't we thought about yet? We are eliminating the male officers of the Force one by one, ruling them out as suspects for dates on one or another of the attacks." 

"And?" Caldwell asked dryly. 

"Partners," Nick sighed. "We haven't considered this is more than one guy." 

"This..." Caldwell gestured at the photos, "takes privacy. Serial killers by nature are loners. Profiling is not an exact science, but partnering is so rare." 

"Leopold and Loeb," Sara mused thoughtfully.

Caldwell stopped himself from rolling his eyes. "Rare, not impossible," he emphasized. 

"Who has not been eliminated as a suspect?" 

"Only Hancock, Captain Barclay, Behr and Yates," Nick read from his list.

"So think about it, we're running down these guys, clearing their names based on one date and time. We're going to have to start from the beginning." 

"To discredit the theory of partners even more," Caldwell interjected, "is that rape as a crime is not cold and calculated like murder often is. Rape is about rage, which means if there are partners, they'd be wanting to commit these crimes together." 

"That's true," Sara deflated somewhat. 

"Maxwell was murdered," Nick stated flatly. "Which would have to mean his MO is changing, or...we're looking for a copycat maybe?" he sounded doubtful, even to himself. 

"The victims aren't talking," Sara argued. "If they're not talking to us, they're not talking to anyone. For a copycat crime, suspects would be narrowed to the IA officers, Department Captains, and the chief. And the hospital staff that serviced the victims," she threw in. 

"I don't understand this!" Nick hit his fist on the table, frustrated. "His MO has changed. If killing them was so easy for him, why wasn't he doing it all along? This just doesn't feel like escalation to me. This feels like six sigs and an aberration."

"Caldwell is right, rape is a crime of rage, it's about the instillation of terror. Terror during the act, and long after it's over," Nick recognized Sara's voice of experience. "Killing is simple, less pain, less mind control," her detached tone was chilling. Caldwell didn't notice.

"Secondly, I don't think his MO had changed, either. Max posed a very specific, significant threat to him, which I perpetuated by asking her for help." 

"Maxwell's murder was damage control," Nick acknowledged. "And you're next." 

"Not necessarily," Sara responded. "Think about it: he's developed the perfect crime. He rapes them, humiliates and terrorizes them, and then does something, _something_ to keep the victims from testifying or even reporting the crime." 

"Murder draws more attention," Nick conceded. "We don't have a victim that can speak, but we have physical evidence to do that." 

"Exactly. This guy won't murder again unless he _has_ to. We're not close enough to him at this point to justify the risk. He knows we're clueless."

"And this guy has a problem with strong, independent women, which may mean he had antagonistic relationships with spouses, siblings, children. Misogynists are rarely closeted," Nick grew more excited. 

Caldwell immediately peed on his fire. "As fascinating as profiling is, I think our time would be better spent not analyzing the crimes, but with good old-fashioned police work." 

"We're CSI's, Captain Caldwell, analyzing the crime is what we do," Sara smiled without her eyes. 

"Let's get personnel files," Nick continued, excited. "Let's look at officers who are divorced, or single. Caldwell?" 

"It could take several days to pull personnel files for the entire Force," Caldwell finally said, gathering his things. "Sark, I would like you to observe Hancock's interview. We're pulling him in at five, after his shift. I'll pick you up," his teeth were annoyingly white, Nick thought. 

"What about me?" Sara asked, looking up at the two alpha males, who were watching each other carefully. 

"Surveillance on Officer Yates. I have Reinhardt watching him now. Relieve him at six. Sark can join you when we're done with Hancock." 

Sara and Nick gave each other a significant look, which Caldwell ignored. He went to the door, and let himself out. 

  
TO BE CONTINUED…in a little while. 


	6. The Choice, part 6

The Choice, Chapter 6

Nick got into the car next to Sara, and watched as Caldwell sped away in his government-issue Buick. He handed her a warm orange package, and as she opened it, she wrinkled her nose. 

"Hamburger?" 

"Boca Burger, with cheese. It's good. I had mine on the way over," he grunted, handing her a soda also. Sara nodded, consented to eating it, and then took a ravenous bite out of the sandwich. 

"So tell me what happened," she demanded, her mouth full. 

"I observed Hancock's interrogation, and believe me, that's what it was. Caldwell was ruthless with that guy. Told him we knew about Maxwell, we knew about the rapes, and Maxwell's murder." 

"How'd he react?" 

"It's not him," Nick shook his head. "The guy turned white as a sheet. He didn't know anything about the rapes. And Caldwell," he rolled his eyes, "that sick bastard started to tell Hancock all about Maxwell's attack. The object rape, the torture. Poor guy just lost it. He threw up right there, in the wastebasket." 

"And?" 

"And Caldwell just kept goading him until Hancock admitted that he'd had an affair with Isabel Shepard, Maxwell's partner." 

"So why was Max over there that night?"

"Delivery service. Isabel had been calling Max, giving her messages for Hancock. Hancock knew about Shepard's rape, and was trying to help Max find her attacker. Hancock didn't know about the other attacks, and if Max knew for certain, she didn't tell him." 

"Damn," Sara whispered. "Brutal?" 

"I've never wanted a cigarette so badly in my life, after watching that," Nick commented wryly, watching Sara wolf down the remains of the hamburger. 

"No fries?" she pouted just a little, and Nick felt brave enough to reach out and tweak her bottom lip. She turned away, embarrassed, and Nick cleared his throat and turned to gaze out the window at the Yates residence.

Sara finally spoke again, after several minutes of silence. "So I made a couple of calls. Yates is single, never been married, and has a mother in Detroit that he never speaks to. He is also one of the only officers that hasn't been cleared. This very well could be our guy." 

"How long had Reinhardt and the rest of IA been watching him?" 

"Only today. No alibi for last night. Claims he was home alone, according to Reinhardt," Sara took a long sip of her soda. She sat back, rested against the seat and waited for Nick to speak. When he didn't, she played with a small hole in the knee of her jeans. "Did Caldwell tell you how long until we'd get those personnel files?" 

"He said Tuesday. Until then, we're watching Yates, IA's watching Barclay and Behr, and we're to narrow the field as far as we can. IA is pulling Barclay and Yates in for interrogation Monday, and Behr on Tuesday. As always, I'll be observing," Nick sighed, watched as one light in the Yates house was turned on, and a half a minute later, another light went off. 

"Someone is in there with him," he sat up straighter in his seat. 

"Reinhardt said he was alone," Sara argued, frowning. 

"I'm telling you Sara, you saw that light on the right side of the second floor go on? Well, less than thirty seconds later, the downstairs light over there," he pointed to the left side of the house, "went out. Now unless the guy went sprinting down the stairs, someone else is in there with him." 

"Shit," Sara hissed. "You want to go look?" 

The thought hadn't actually crossed Nick's mind, but if they were caught, they could always claim they were just cutting across the yard to the alley behind the house. Nick began a quick scan of the neighboring houses. Unlike Hancock's home, pesky neighbors didn't immediately flank the Yates house. A thick wall of trees guarded his property on the right side of the home, and the left side of the home backed up to a small meadow. Across the street, the two homes facing Yates's were dark. 

"Let's go," Nick muttered, sliding out of the seat and waiting for Sara to follow his lead. She did, and they took each other's hands as they jogged across the lawn. Nick prayed the moon would stay obscured behind the clouds. 

Sara began to climb the tree nearest to the lighted window on the second floor. Nick debated going after her, but decided if she fell, on the ground he had a decent chance of catching her. She shimmed up the trunk, and Nick watched with some interest as she made a humping motion, trying to inch up to get a view of the window. 

"You're not going to believe this!" she whispered loudly. 

"What?" Nick whispered back. 

"Yates is in there with Pemberly!" she hissed. 

"Pemberly? Are you sure?" 

"They're sitting at a round table, like a desk. They're looking over papers," she faltered as she leaned forward on the limb for a better view. 

"What does it look like?" 

"I can't tell from here," Sara said softly. "They look cozy though." 

"Planning a murder cozy, or in for the night cozy?" 

"They are avidly discussing something..."

"Sara, watch out!" 

It was too late, Nick thought, as Sara lost her tenuous footing and began to fall. Nick was under her in a flash, reaching out for her, and she collapsed on him, bringing him down onto his back in the Yates's side yard. 

"Ooof!" Sara's breath was expelled from her body in one giant gust. Nick groaned under her, and as she shifted against him, trying to regain her bearings, she felt the hot hard length of him though his jeans. Looking straight into his eyes with surprise, Sara was inches away from his lips. 

She searched his face, looking for any signs of rejection. She closed her eyes, leaned forward, and breathed hard through her parted lips, knowing that if their mouths touched, it would change everything between them. 

"Who's out there?" An angry voice called from the back porch. 

Nick's eyes went wide with fright, and he used his strong body to push Sara off of him and pull her up to stand in one fluid motion. He pulled her in behind the large tree trunk, hoping that the suspicious homeowner wouldn't come poking around the edges of the property.

"I'm RPD! I am armed and I will not hesitate to shoot!" The voice sounded near, and Nick held Sara impossibly close to him against the rough bark of the tree. Both forgot to breathe until they heard the slamming of a screen door, and out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw the back porch light go off. 

Sara moved to leave, but Nick held her close for several long minutes, not looking into her questioning face. When he thought it was safe, he released her from his grip and began to ease away from the tree. He took her hand as they slunk back through the foliage towards the car. They were careful to very quietly shut the doors behind them, sealing them into the vehicle. 

"That was too close," Nick muttered, placing his hand to his chest. 

"The stakeout or the other?" Sara asked, her voice stilted. She couldn't quite meet his eyes. 

Nick shot her a look that clearly told her he thought she was crazy. "Sara, you know very well I meant you climbing up into that tree. You liked'ta scared the life outta me!" Sara noticed that his accent became stronger and thicker when he was upset, and the thought made her smile. 

"So what do you think?" Sara asked, still a little breathless with excitement. "Yates, possibly a raving misogynist, with the only out gay male officer on the Force. I think I could make a pretty strong argument to Caldwell regarding the 'partner' theory," Sara raised an eyebrow. 

"Let's not jump to conclusions. Or out of any more trees," Nick rolled his eyes. 

"I didn't jump, I fell," Sara volleyed, but Nick ignored her. 

"We don't know Yates yet, and we certainly can't guess that he's a 'raving misogynist.' He might just be a loner. You, Miss Independence, might know something about that." 

"I'm not a loner," she frowned. Nick continued, airily. 

"Moreover, we don't know why he's with Pemberly. They could be doing something perfectly innocent. Like planning a surprise party." 

"Now you're just teasing," Sara grumbled, noticing a leaf stuck to her tank top. She pulled it off the cloth and proceeded to tear it into small pieces as Nick watched her with amusement. He turned back towards the window and got quiet. 

After several long minutes, he shifted in his seat. 

"Tell me about Texas," Sara asked softly, and Nick turned to look at her in surprise. "Tell me what you love most about Texas." 

"Well, uh, I love a lot of things about Texas," he stammered. 

"Tell me your favorite memories," Sara urged, and Nick grew quiet once more as he thought for a few moments. 

"Well, I was born in Dallas, but my parents had a farm about an hour and a half out into the country, in Henderson. Dad's brother used to run it until he retired; now some local boys run it. We used to go out there every summer to work for Uncle Jack. My brother Frank and I would go with him to manage the cattle, and Aunt June would have the girls pick vegetables and feed the chickens and bale hay and stuff like that." 

"Sounds fun," Sara commented, her dark eyes shining. 

"Some of it was. Jack'd get us on Moe and Larry, those were Dad's old horses, and we'd round up the cows to get them ready to go down the chute." 

"The chute?" Sara's voice was mystified. 

"Well, there was this corral, that you'd send the cows down the chute, keep them penned up long enough to give them their shots, and tag them, and then release them into the corral, one at a time. That was when you were getting ready to load them up and send them to sale, or to..." he didn't finish. 

"Where?" 

"Uh, the slaughterhouse." 

"Oh," Sara's prim response told him everything. 

"But sometimes Jack would just let us ride around the farm, pick flowers for the girls, or ride down to the river and swim. Frank was...eighteen, nineteen I think. Of course, I was only five or six, and I had to ride on the saddle in front of him. I begged, _begged_ Uncle Jack to let me ride my own horse." 

"When did he let you?" 

"Well, now just listen," Nick teased, still concentrating on the house. "When I was about seven, Frank and the older cousins decided to put me on a pony, a Shetland pony. Well, Shetlands are mean little bastards, only I didn't know that." 

"Oh no!" Sara just knew Nick was about to meet his match. 

"So this pony just immediately bucks me off, and wouldn't you know, I landed right in the briar patch," Nick winced at the memory. "Those boys pulled me out of there, and I was just covered in thorns." 

"What happened?" 

"Well, I went back up to the house, and June was just furious with those boys. Katie and Aly, my sisters, they spent an hour pulling all those little thorns out. June made all those boys sleep out on cots on the porch that night. Took all their keys away, hid them in the larder." 

"The larder?" Sara asked, quizzically. 

"Like a very large, well-stocked pantry," Nick explained, smiling. "It was another couple of years before I ever got on a horse again. Which just meant all the boys teased me even more about that. I just wanted to play with Katie-bird anyway." 

"Katie's your youngest sister, right?" 

"Yeah, she's three years older. We were tight, even then. Katie's always been my best friend." 

"Tell me more," Sara leaned back in the seat, listening to the soft cadence of Nick's voice, as he told her stories about life on the farm, and with his family. Katie's jealousy the first time he brought home a serious girlfriend, getting caught with the neighbor girl, making out in the barn, camping out with his older cousins under the big Texas sky, the stars imprinting themselves on his memory. 

Finally, he broke Sara out of her reverie by telling her the lights had gone out in the Yates residence. They watched the house for another hour, and finally, Nick started the car and drove around the back alley. The alley and the driveway were empty, and Nick cursed under his breath. 

"Pemberly must have come out the back," he groused as he turned the car around. Driving them home, he noticed with amusement that Sara was looking very sleepy. By the time they got back to the apartment, she was assed-out in the passenger seat. She, surprisingly, had no objections as Nick came around to her side of her car, and scooped her up in his arms. 

"Shhh," he whispered as he carried her in. She tried to wrap her arms around his neck, but the events of the day were catching up to her quickly, and she found that she didn't have the energy. He turned sideways as he carried her in, and kicked the door closed behind him. He managed to juggle her just enough to lock the door, and took her into the bedroom. Laying her out on the bed, he removed her socks and shoes, and Sara had just enough remaining energy to unbutton her jeans and shimmy out of them. 

Nick stood up, began to turn to leave when Sara drowsily ordered him to stay. 

With a sigh, and a quick, silent argument with himself about why he shouldn't, he removed his pants and shoes and slid into the bed next to her. She stayed on her side of the bed, flopping onto her stomach, and Nick heard her soft snores within seconds. He laid on his back next to her, playing the situation out in his mind. It wasn't very long before he too, was fast asleep. 

The next morning, he was awake and alert at six a.m. The events of the day before had obviously been taxing, because Sara was still dead to the world, on her back, with a limp hand flung over onto Nick's belly. 

He slipped out from underneath her, and quietly left her room. Changing into his running clothes, he decided a seven-mile run would be adequate enough to punish himself for the indiscretion with Sara from the day before. He laced up his running shoes, and stretching only a few minutes, he bounded down the stairs of their second floor apartment to the street. 

He pushed himself like mad, running faster, working harder, and breathing like an asthma patient in a marathon. Fueled by his desire to run Sara out of his system, he pounded through the forest trail like he was running for his life. The pre-dawn dimness of the wooded area helped set the mood of an attack as he strained and urged himself on, faster, faster, like a frightened rabbit. Darting around corners, around curves like a snake, his body was sinewy and sweaty with the exertion. He ignored the twigs and branches, pulling at the thin cotton of his muscle shirt when he brushed too close. They scraped and pulled at his skin, but he pressed on. Emerging from the forested area, he slowed as he approached their neighborhood, and was jogging by the time he reached the apartment complex. Vaulting himself up the concrete staircase into the porch that led to the front door, his heart leapt into his chest. 

The front door was ajar, and he drew his gun from the holster he'd been wearing non-stop since Maxwell's murder. Holding it out in front of him, he pushed the door open, pivoting around the corner in the foyer the way he'd learned in the Academy. He closed the door behind him, almost silently. He stealthily crept through the apartment, rounding the corner to the bedroom. The door was wide open, and through it, he could see Sara was not in bed, and the darkened closet was also empty, the door flung upon. The entire apartment was eerily silent, and he continued his search, easing through the kitchen to swing the pantry door open, then the door to the utility room. He opened the door of the small lavatory at the end of the hall, but it was empty and dark. He did a quick sweep of the den and had almost decided to reholster his gun when he heard a distinct noise from the bedroom. He steadied his gun as he crept in, keeping his stance as he plunged forward into the room. He turned on the closet light, and found no one hiding behind the door. 

He turned and approached the bathroom door, his entire body on edge. He reached for the knob, and willed his heart not to stop completely. He threw the door open and leveled his gun. 

"Freeze!" 

Sara screamed in surprise and stood stock still, clutching the towel around her body more tightly. 

"The front door was standing open," Nick managed to gasp, his heart beating frantically in his chest, threatening to overwhelm him. Her eyes were wild, and she too, was breathing heavily, her chest rapidly heaving. Sweat had pooled at the neck of his muscle shirt, making a dark stain on his sternum, and his track pants were slung low on his hips. 

Both were still gasping for breath, staring at each other with wide eyes. Like magnets, unable to resist a moment longer, they came together with a clash of flesh. Lips, tongues tangled as the fire between them flared and grew, threatening to consume them both. 

Nick moved from the Sara's lips to the impossibly soft skin of her neck and throat, gently nipping and sucking, causing Sara to moan uncontrollably. Awkwardly, they moved towards the bed, feeling and touching each other with reckless, wanton abandon. 

Sara dropped her towel and lay back onto the bed, staring at Nick hungrily as she pulled him down on top of her. Kissing madly, both found it increasingly difficult to break apart to breathe. Sara fondled him gently through the front of his pants, watching his closed eyes, his handsome face contorting with pleasure. His breathing hitched and he hissed her name through his teeth. 

"Sara, please," he begged. Capturing her mouth again in a frenzied kiss, he wrapped his tongue around hers and sucked. Sara moaned desperately, arching against his palm as he cupped her bare breast in his hand. Gently rubbing, causing her to emit excited pants, he imagined he'd never seen anything so raw and beautiful. Leaning down, his lips closed around her small nipple, his teeth scraping her flesh. She bucked beneath him wildly in unbearable pleasure. 

Slowly, he slipped his hand down to the warm apex of her thighs, stroking her gently to oblivion. Continuing to kiss and suck at her breasts, his fingers brought her to sweet ecstasy in a matter of minutes. A sheen of sweat glowed across her writhing body. 

Nick found her mouth again to share an urgent, drugging kiss. 

Sara reacted with a startled yelp at the sound of pounding on the front door. Nick froze, and cupped his hand over her mouth. Putting a finger to his lips, he rose off of her body, and stood, grabbing his gun from the bedside table before easing out of the room. He gestured for her to get dressed, and she stood, going to the bedroom door and closing it behind him. Sara hurriedly pulled clothes from the bureau, hearing Nick in the living room calling to her, "it's Captain Caldwell." 

Muttering a curse, she shoved her legs into a pair of panties and then pulled on a pair of jeans. Forgoing a bra, at least for the moment, she pulled on a t-shirt and ran her fingers through her damp hair. She took a quick, cursory glance in the mirror before sailing out of the bedroom, attempting to look casual, nonchalant, and not the least bit post-coital. Caldwell seemed oblivious, and for that, Sara was grateful. 

"In the wake of Officer Maxwell's murder, we're pulling in the rape victims to allow Mary to interview them. Sark, I want you to observe." He nodded at both of them. 

Sara went back to the bedroom, and pulled her t-shirt off. Nick slipped in behind her, and looked embarrassed to see her standing there, topless. Sara had no time for such pleasantries, and she proceeded to dig through the drawers for a clean bra as Nick stammered. 

"Sara, we don't have to do this. Caldwell has to give us a day off," Nick reminded her. 

"The sooner we can get this over with, the sooner we can find a cold-blooded killer. And we get to go home," Sara found a button down shirt and proceeded to button herself into it. 

Nick silently nodded and accompanied her back out to the living room, where Caldwell was waiting. 

Slipping in the back door of the station house was a new experience for Sara. She was led down a series of hallways, and finally through a door marked "Private." Through the one-way glass, she could see Interview Room 1, where Danielle Steel, Mackey Charles, and Lacy McReynolds were gathered. Kelly Leads was ushered in a minute later and she proceeded to sit down across from the other women. All four glanced furtively at one another and occasionally at the glass. 

Sara came through the door and sat at the foot of the table, and tried to look relaxed. 

"Good morning, ladies," her soft tone belied her apprehension. 

None of the officers answered, all were engrossed in their own laps. 

"There is an officer behind that glass, listening to us, that cares about all of you very much," her voice broke. "I care about you _very_ much." All of the girls looked up at Sara in surprise, then shot looks towards the mirror. 

"You have to tell me what happened to you," she urged. 

The room was silent for a long minute. 

"Let me tell you what I know," Sara tried a different tact. "I know that all four of you were admitted to St. John's Emergency Room Trauma Unit on different dates within the past four months. I know all of you asked for a SART, and were given birth control. All of you tested positive for semen. The same semen." Sara stopped to catch her breath and sweep her eyes across their faces. "I have three detectives in this room, and one sergeant. I know I don't _need _to explain the clock to you ladies. All of you had swelling, bruising and tearing at the dinner hour, indicating sex was non-consensual." 

Steel cleared her throat, but didn't say anything. 

"Give us something, please?" Sara finally said, her voice breaking. 

"We can't!" Mackey Charles hissed. 

"Can't you see that we can't?" Kelly Leads threw in darkly. 

"Why not?" Sara asked, her voice sharp. 

None of the women answered her. 

"I won't give up unless you tell me why you can't report your own rapes!" Sara's voice rose. 

"We can't," Danielle asserted helplessly. 

"We've been given _The Choice_," McReynolds testified ominously. Chills ran down Sara's spine. 

"The Choice? The choice to do what?" Sara blurted. 

Kelly Leads stood, "Unless we're being charged, criminally, we're leaving. And tell that bastard Bryce that we're not speaking with IA again without an attorney present." All four of the officers filed out of the room, and Sara returned to the small observatory. 

Both Sara and Nick immediately turned to Caldwell. 

"What?" 

"'That bastard Bryce?'" Sara clarified. 

Caldwell cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Kelly can get emotional," he admitted. 

"Since when is the Captain of Internal Affairs and a Traffic cop on a first name basis?" 

"She's my sister," he reported mildly, followed by, "and she's a Detective, Mr. Sark, not a 'cop.'

"She's your sister?" Sara asked, her voice filled with a kind of sick horror. 

Caldwell shrugged, and Sara had the very distinct urge to hit him. Nick recognized the look on her face, and quickly escorted her out of the room and into the hall. 

"That bastard can't even feel compassion for his own sister!" Sara fairly yelled as soon as the door was closed. Nick winced and gestured for her to lower her voice. 

"Mary, please, go home and get some sleep. This relentless work is not good for either of us. And since Caldwell won't let me off the hook, at least one of us should be rested," he reached up to gently touch her face, and Sara found herself giving in, closing her eyes at the sensation, leaning in to him. 

When he wrapped his arms around her for a hug, Sara released her inhibitions and embraced him back, holding on to him for dear life. 

"I'm sorry we didn't get to spend more time alone," he whispered. 

"But you said it yourself," she murmured, "I'm not here to find a boyfriend." 

Nick closed his eyes and when he reopened them, he pulled back and gazed into the face of the woman he had been falling for since the moment he met her. 

"Go home and get some sleep, please. Clean, if you want to. I'll be home to make dinner at six," he promised. 

Sara didn't actually feel like arguing, so she slipped out of his grasp and made her way back up the hallway toward the stairs that led to the outside world. 

Outside, she heard her name—well, her alias, at least—ring out across the parking lot. Officer Pemberly was standing by her car, waving at her exuberantly. As she came closer, he approached and gave her a big bear hug, which she tentatively returned. 

"Oh, Sark, honey, I love those shoes!" he crowed. 

"Thank you," she managed gruffly. He began to admire her handbag and babble about purses of the season, and Sara, eyes narrowed, wondered what exactly he and Yates were hiding. 

"So what do you think?" 

"Huh?" Sara snapped out of it to find Pemberly staring at her expectantly. 

"Ooooh, girl, you were on _cloud nine_! C'mon, what's his name...?" 

Sara couldn't help but snort with laughter. She pointed at her ring. "Mr. Sark." 

Pemberly shot her an unconvinced look. "Honey, the last time a woman actually fantasized about her husband, they were actually having sex!" he teased. 

"Maybe we are," Sara teased back, despite her suspicions. She honestly didn't know if she could believe that this flirty little flibbertigibbet could hurt anyone.

"Doll, if you find a man like that, you send him my way," Pemberly gave her an air-kiss, then waved again as she got into her car. 

Sighing, she started the ignition. As much as she hated to admit it, Nick was right. She did need to rest. And Caldwell wasn't letting up—he would continue to work them, nights, weekends, days off, until they were either too exhausted to go on, or they dropped dead. Sara convinced herself to go back to the apartment and take a nap, and then clean before Nick came back. She just hoped it would be enough. 

TO BE CONTINUED, eventually. 


	7. The Choice, part 7

The Choice, chapter 7

Nick came through the door to find Sara asleep on the couch. He smelled the faint odor of bleach, and knew Sara must have cleaned already. She had probably come home, too keyed up to sleep, and cleaned herself into a state of exhaustion, which was just about her style. 

She wasn't the only one fretting over the events of the interview; Nick, too, found it almost impossible to think about anything else. Except for what had happened that morning, that was battling to take up equal share of his thoughts, and winning. He vowed to put the interrogations out of his mind, and concentrate on Sara, at least for the next two hours. 

"Nick?" Sara asked groggily. Nick shushed her, and came over to sit on the end of the couch next to her feet. She sat up, against his protest, and wrapped her arms around her knees. "What time is it?" 

"Six," he murmured softly. "I was going to make dinner. Lay back down until it's time to eat," he urged. 

"No," Sara yawned hugely. "This may be the only time I get to see you in the next couple of days." 

Nick's heart did a small flip-flop in his chest. She wanted to spend her time with him. It didn't change what he had to tell her—the apology he had to make. 

"Sara, I..." his mouth couldn't find the words as he gazed down at her. Her eyes were still sleepy, and her voice was sleep-roughened. His eyes followed the path from her brow, down her cute little nose to her small chin and sensuous lips. "Sara I'm sorry for what happened this morning." 

Sara's face dropped, and she let go of his hand, he hadn't even realized she'd taken it. "I'm not," she said defensively. 

"Sara," his voice was firm and she looked up at him. He reached out with his arms to pull her closer. "I'm not sorry _that_ it happened. The way that it happened, I never should have..." 

Sara's confused expression provided the question.

"I never should have...forced myself...like that, on you..." he stumbled, and Sara brought a calm hand to his lips and gently closed her fingers over his mouth, shushing him. 

"You didn't do anything I didn't want," she assured him, a little breathlessly. 

Nick sighed deeply, didn't respond, but pulled her closer still, practically into his lap. He kissed the top of her head fondly. "I'm still sorry." 

"I'm sorry, too," she interjected. "That's certainly not how I envisioned our first time..." 

"You've thought about us, together, before?" his voice was low and sultry, and at the same time, bewildered, and the combination was drawing delightful chills up her spine. 

"Yeah," Sara admitted quietly. 

"Me, too," he returned, grinning. "Since the very first time you flirted with me." 

Sara drew her head back to look at him, perplexed. "I think we've been doing that since the first day we met." 

"Then that's how long I've wanted you," Nick leaned forward to kiss her, his tongue gently seeking entrance to her mouth. The kiss was deep and satisfying, and he ended it by placing small, chaste kisses on her swollen lips. Sara was breathing heavily, her eyes glazed, and Nick found the sight infinitely more endearing than he ever though it could be. 

He eased her off of his lap, and stood, gently touching the top of her head. He smiled as she lay back down with no argument. He went to the kitchen to start dinner. 

Sara popped the last bite of eggplant into her mouth with a satisfied groan. Nick chuckled from the sink, where he was already washing dishes. He watched Sara lean back in her chair, exposing the pale column of throat, her small breasts jutting forward in a long, slow stretch. She got up and came around to the kitchen, where she returned jars and bottles to the fridge as Nick loaded the dishwasher. 

"Let's go sit out on the balcony when we're done," Sara leaned up from behind him and rested her chin on Nick's shoulder. 

"We have to leave at eight," he reminded her, not turning his head, for fear that she would move.

"We have a few minutes," Sara said and finally stood straight and grabbed the wet sponge he proffered. Nick had to restrain himself from pinning her against the counter and taking her warm, soft body into his arms. 

They finished cleaning the kitchen in short order, and Sara high-tailed it out to the patio, wishing she had a couple of beers to top of the evening. 

_You're not here to enjoy yourself_, she reminded herself ruefully. 

Nick plopped down next to her in the early evening twilight, and she turned to gaze at him in profile. She realized she'd never been as close to anyone before, not even Grissom. She and Nick had been intimate, sort of, and sure, it had evolved awkwardly, but they were working on it. 

They only had an hour before they were set to leave, and they were enjoying the cooling air of the impending desert night. She felt Nick's hand grasp hers, and she wrapped her palm around his larger one. She was content to sit there with him, not speaking, and she found to her very great relief that it wasn't uncomfortable. 

Nick's thumb was tracing gentle circles on the back of her hand, lighting her skin on fire. A low warmth flared in her belly, tracing through her veins ever-so-gently. 

She hadn't realized that she'd dozed off again until Nick shook her gently awake. He looked reluctant, but she knew as well as he did that they had an assignment. She put her listening device in her ear, and met him at her car. Unfortunately, Caldwell had split them up for more manpower, and Sara knew that it was probably the last time that she'd see Nick for a few days, at least. That was why, when they reached the parking lot of the station house, she leaned forward and gave him a long, deep kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and feeling his return embrace. 

"Be careful," he urged, his eyes serious. 

She gave him her lop-sided grin. "I always am." She got out of the car and shut the door behind her. 

Nick put the car into gear. "Yeah, right." 

It was after one when Nick slid into the bed next to her, shushing her when she rolled over and groggily tried to greet him. The next morning, he was gone by the time she woke at seven. She sighed, wondering how he did it. She never slept this much at home, and she chalked it up to the emotional exhaustion of pretending she was someone she wasn't. But Nick hadn't stopped since the moment they had gotten off the plane. 

That night she was watching the Behr home, and listened through her earpiece as Nick relayed the events of the interrogation of Yates and Barclay. Barclay had been busted for drugs after he confessed. He had tried to save his job by swearing to enroll in rehab, but Caldwell had been unforgiving. Nick relayed with some amusement that the good Captain had to give up his drug habit after Caldwell started trying to pin a series of rapes on him. 

Yates had remained cool and collected, and wouldn't comment on his relationship with Officer Pemberly. Nick advised her that he had seriously considered Yates as their prime suspect, given that Yates had almost immediately asked for an attorney. Both Yates and his attorney had looked genuinely surprised at the mention of sexual assault, which made second-guess his suspicions even more. 

Nick felt like he was at a dead-end. 

Sara reported she'd received the cold shoulder from Sergeant Steel and the other rape victims throughout the day. Not that they were social butterflies before, but they'd ignored her pointedly. She couldn't help it; she was perplexed by what McReynolds had said during that joke of an interview. They'd been given _The Choice_. It sent chills down her spine, haunting her. It had something to do with the attacks directly, she felt it instinctively, but she couldn't pin down the sensation any more than she could finger the culprit. 

Sara listened as Nick softly talked to her, saying nothing, really, and everything. They were just passing the time, she knew, but it was nice that she got to pass it listening to his voice, listening to his stories, allowing him to keep her awake. 

She stayed at her post an hour after the street and homes had gone dark, and when she crawled into bed, Nick still wasn't home. He didn't join her in the bed at all, and Sara found the note the next morning on the bar that proclaimed he'd been sick all night. She scribbled a note to him to take care of himself, and wondered if he would heed her advice. 

She had arranged with Caldwell to observe the Behr interrogation, and she tried to tell herself it wasn't because Nick was going to be there, watching it too. She'd also been keeping tabs on Maxwell's case, and the coroner had already agreed to release the body. The wake was that night, but Sara knew she wouldn't be able to attend, as Caldwell had ordered a big powwow for the three of them. With any luck, Behr would be their guy and she and Nick could go home. Sara knew it wouldn't be that simple. Was Behr the guy giving the female officers of Reno _The Choice_? It seemed unlikely. He was a middle-aged, balding, portly fellow who looked like he loved his TV and armchair more than life itself. But he was single, never married, and that was significant. Sara supposed psychos could look like anyone, and that's what made them so very hard to catch. 

She sighed as she strapped her firearm to her belt. She wondered if she'd have to use it. 

"Captain Sark, so nice of you to join us," Caldwell said coldly when she opened the door to the observation room. Caldwell was obviously already getting into bad cop mode, and his silver eyes flashed with annoyance as he turned back to the one-way glass that allowed him to see Dennis Behr looking very bewildered. 

Nick rolled his eyes and as Caldwell opened the door to the interrogation room with a flourish, Nick dropped a quick kiss on her forehead, which ran a shiver through her body. She wished he could take her into his arms and really kiss her. Or she could just wrap her long legs around his waist and...

"So, Behr, I see that you've never been married," Caldwell began, a look of disgust firmly planted on his face. 

"Well, n-no," Behr stammered. "I-I just nuh-never found the right girl," he blushed. Sara sensed immediately that this wasn't their guy, and wondered if Caldwell had the same impression. 

"Is it because you hate women, Denny?" he asked, his tone almost...serpentine. 

"Nuh-no," Behr shook his head. "I-I was never very brave. My brother Kurt got all the girls." 

Sara turned to Nick and quietly said, "the only thing this guy is guilty of is being shy and snitching an extra donut." 

"Well, he does keep referring to them as 'girls'," Nick's grin was teasing. 

"Hey, after Caldwell leaves tonight, let's rent a movie or something. Stay in," her sultry look told him everything he needed to know. They'd no more be watching that movie than playing pinochle.

"Are you hitting on me, Detective Sark?" he kept his eyes trained forward on the glass, where he seemed to still be paying attention, remarkably. 

"You are my husband, right?" she raised her eyebrows. He returned her look dubiously. 

"Caldwell may have another one of his charming little errands for me," Nick reminded her. 

Sara looked forward, out into the interrogation room. Behr was already looking pasty. "Tell him no. Tell him you have to have a night off. You aren't sleeping, I know you aren't." 

"You're the one who doesn't like to sleep," Nick volleyed back. 

"And I'm the one who's getting eight hours a night. I'm always ready to go to bed; this is very emotionally draining work. So if I'm tired, I know you are." 

"I'm not tired," Nick refuted. 

"Please, Nick. I want to get home as much as you do. But we're not going to be any help to anyone if we're dead on our feet." 

Nick didn't say anything more, but watched as Caldwell showed Behr the pictures of Maxwell spread out like a French whore. Behr immediately turned and threw up in the wastebasket. Sara idly wondered how many wastebaskets they replaced per week with Caldwell around. 

"What a heartless bastard," Nick muttered. 

Caldwell spent the next six minutes leading up to the crescendo, in which he made Behr break down and cry. Sara had seen very few grown men cry, and this guy reminded her more of her father than a homicidal maniac. She suddenly had the absurd wish that Caldwell would just lay off. 

Finally, he did, and traipsed back into the observatory with a smirk playing on his lips. Sara shot Nick a disgusted look, and left the room. 

She stormed down the hall like a woman on a mission, and rounding the corner to the bullpen, she ran smack into Junior Caldwell and Jimmy Davis sharing a joke. They were blocking the hallway, so she was forced to stop and be social. If that's what she could call it. 

"Is your brother always such an ass?" she razzed Junior. 

He smiled sheepishly, nudging Davis with an elbow to the ribs. "Yeah, pretty much. You either get used to him or you hate him." 

"I put ten bucks that Sark never gets used to him!" Davis chortled gleefully. 

"My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever," she reported mildly. Neither man caught her literary allusion, and she wasn't surprised. 

"I'm glad you're not my old lady!" Davis cackled. 

Junior smiled and gave the shorter man a noogie. "Officer Sark looks nothin' like that ball-and-chain." 

"You're riding with me, today, Sark," Davis informed her once he slipped out of Junior's headlock. Junior's face tightened as his attention suddenly shifted towards the door. Sara pretended not to notice, and instead, continued to flirt with Officer Davis shamelessly. 

"So you have to take me down the seedy streets of Reno, and I know you know where they are." 

He looked shocked, then proclaimed, "I am a paragon of virtue, Detective." 

A young man was standing in the door that led out to the hallway. He had almost-white hair hanging down into his face, and his baggy jeans and hip chain told Sara he was probably a pot-smoking skater. Sara watched as Junior pulled out his wallet. He rejoined the group, and rolled his eyes. 

"Nephew, always coming around for money," he said, exasperated. He immediately brightened. "But I'm going to win in back tonight in the polker game!" 

"Pants and shoes, Junior, pants and shoes!" 

"Pants and shoes?" Sara asked, quizzically. 

"Junior usually goes home wearin' nothin' but his pants and his shoes!" Davis chuckled. 

"Hey, my luck's changing," he grinned, and then flashed Sara a curious, almost shy look. "You wanna play tonight, Sark? The boys say they don't mind if you come." 

"I don't know, guys," she pointed at her ring and winked. 

"Oh, come on, Sark, he'll be there every other night. In fact, tell him to come along," Davis whined. 

"I know he can't. His mother's sick, you know. Terminal. We came all the way out here to be with her, we can't leave her for poker." 

"Bring her along, too," Davis winked, and Sara shoved the ball of her palm into his left shoulder. 

"I can see the newspaper headline now, 'Old woman croaks amidst a smoky poker game." 

"I'll let you wear my green visor," Junior offered, drawing another grin. 

"That'll be what tips it," she assured him before moving on passed them towards the bullpen. 

She moved along, rolling her eyes when Mackey Charles and Lacy McReynolds immediately turned on their heels and walked away from the desk where they had been standing, talking. 

She passed Edna, on the phone yelling at someone that had to be one of her kids. 

"Well, turn the damn thing off! Where is your mother? Why are you trying to chase Cody with the weedeater?" 

Captain Yessen she could see from his office, his face blustery as he spoke with one of his sergeants. Pemberly was sitting at the Records desk, buffing his nails and reading GQ. One of the payroll guys was standing at the end of the row of filing cabinets, stuttering out a story about a fishing trip that weekend. 

She smiled as she headed towards her desk. It was like one, big, happy, fucked-up family. 

Nick stood behind Sara in the kitchen, his hands firmly over her breasts, his head in the crook of her shoulder, nibbling on the skin there, applying his tongue occasionally just to feel the shudder that ran through Sara's body at that contact. His chest was pressed against her back, and her arms were up over her head, and stretched out behind her, her fingers tangled in his short hair. He was rubbing small circles around her nipples, causing her to moan loudly. In the interim of her groans were small pants that sounded adorable, at least to Nick's ears. 

He was whispering to her, in between licks on her earlobe, nibbles on her shoulder and out-and-out sucking on her neck. 

"...sexy...can't wait to see you naked again...we have to be alone soon...or I'm going to have to...get down-and-dirty...on our next stakeout...I mean, really, how much can one guy take?...you smell so good, like...honey and cinnamon...mmmm...you really should wear that perfume to bed...I'd never be too tired again..." 

"Caldwell's going to be here any minute," Sara managed to say. 

Nick disengaged his mouth from the ministration and stepped back from her very deliberately. "Well, now you've gone and done it." 

"What?" Sara turned around to face him. 

"Even you, the delectable Sara Sidle, can not overcome the mental image of that prick." 

She giggled, uncharacteristically, and Nick cocked his head to stare at her. He rubbed a thumb down the graceful line of her jaw. 

"You're beautiful, you know that, right?" he asked, husky. 

She blushed, and immediately began to inspect the floor. "Yeah, well." 

Nick opened his mouth to argue, but a knock came at the door, and Nick knew Bryce Caldwell would walk right in on them if he didn't go answer it. 

"Button your shirt," he said to Sara, before rounding the bar to head towards the living room. Sara flushed even hotter, then reached down to push the buttons back into their holes. She did a cursory check to make sure her bra clasp was still intact, then tried to smooth down her hair with the palm of her hands. 

Bryce Caldwell didn't seem to notice as he came to spread his files out along their dining room table. 

"Here are the personnel files for 56 Officers, 21 Detectives, 14 Sergeants, 6 Captains, and a Chief of Police. In a pear tree," his dark smile was humorless. 

"Great," Nick rubbed his hands together as if to warm them. 

Sara joined Nick and Caldwell at the table, sliding sideways into her seat, almost smoothly. Nick still had to shift around in his seat to help discourage the erection that was starting to take up permanent residence in his pants...at least, whenever he was around _her_. 

"So here is an employee list, if you need anything else...call me," Bryce Caldwell stood, and Sara shot a quizzical look at Nick. 

"I thought..." 

"I know," Caldwell's smile was warm for her. "But I really must go." 

"Fine," Nick's expression was cold, and Caldwell shot one last ingratiating smile at Sara before gathering up his briefcase and heading for the front door.

"That was weird," Sara said briefly. 

Nick narrowed his eyes; "everything about that guy is _weird_. Call me crazy, but I think he's got something to do with all this," he gestured at the files spread out on the table. 

"You're crazy," Sara said, her eyebrows raised. 

"Think about this, honey. Who cleared Caldwell?" 

"IA," Sara said. 

"And who runs IA? Caldwell. How do we know, really, that he's not the one?" 

"Let's look at his personnel file," Sara started to shift through the folders. After several minutes of searching, she frowned. She looked over at Nick's stack. "Well, it's not here," she pursed her lips. 

"Call him," Nick urged. 

"I'm not going to call him less than three minutes after he has left and ask for his file," Sara rolled her eyes. "I'll go to the Chief tomorrow and get it." 

"Fine," Nick's voice held a measure of defeat. 

"Let's just do what we can tonight," Sara said softly, reaching to brush her hand across Nick's. "Don't forget, Max's funeral is tomorrow." 

As if Nick could forget. Sara got quiet, and withdrew her hand. They sat together, late into the night, compiling the personnel files with their notes and lists, working late, late into the night... 

TO BE CONTINUED...quicker than a long-tailed cat moves through a room full a rockin' chairs...

And the next chapter is going to involve Nick and Sara actually getting' some booty, so stay tuned...I know all this UST is driving everyone crazy. Three more chapters and I'm done! YAY-HOO. Keep on reading, reviewing, it makes my day. 


	8. The Choice, part 8

The Choice, Chapter 8

Sara woke up to the gentle tapping of rain on the windowpane of the bedroom. Her muscles were warm and weak with disuse, and she imagined that she could lay there and never open her eyes, never venture from the bed, and she would be perfectly happy. She rolled onto her back, taking just a corner of the sheet with her. 

She yawned hugely, slowly waking, slowly opening her eyes. She stared at the ceiling for several moments before looking over to see Nick awake, propped up on his elbow, watching her adoringly. 

"That is a very good way to make me uncomfortable," she joked, her voice gravelly with sleep. 

"I just can't believe this has happened," he said softly. 

"Well, technically, nothing _has_ happened yet," Sara teased, a smile lighting up her features. 

"_But it will_," he murmured, leaning forward to put a well-placed suck on her earlobe, and just as quickly pull back. 

Sara groaned longingly at the contact. "We can't. We have to get dressed. We have," she turned her head backward to look at the clock, "forty minutes." 

At that moment, the alarm rang, causing Nick to release a long groan of frustration. 

"C'mon," Sara rose slowly, and Nick laid back on the mattress, staring at her lovely backside as she reached her arms above her head for a s-t-r-e-t-c-h. Her tank top had ridden up, exposing the olive skin of her waist, and her boy shorts hugged her hips in a manner that was much too feminine. Nick leapt out of bed and sprinted towards the bathroom, ignoring Sara's protests. 

"Sorry," he called, sounding not a single bit apologetic. "The guy who needs the cold shower gets the first shower!" 

Thirty minutes later, he looked very solemn indeed. Sara had insisted they both bring at least one respectable "nice" outfit, 'if only for our own funerals,' had been her bad joke. Nick's dark suit and black silk tie made him look very debonair, and Sara couldn't recall a single instance of ever seeing Nick in a suit before that moment. It perfectly matched Sara's sleeveless black dress. 

He waited at the door for her to finish applying her makeup, and escorted her out with a possessive hand at the small of her back. They rode to the funeral home in thoughtful, comfortable silence. Nick had to remind her again to put in her hearing aid—Sara wasn't sure what she'd do without him watching out for her, watching her back. 

Max's family has obviously requested a simple service, but plenty of officers were there, in their full regalia, giving it a little more ceremony. The rain continued to fall, and Nick held the umbrella over Sara's head, ignoring the small droplets that were pelting the back of his suit coat and his neck. Personnel at the funeral home were handing out small towels, and Sara used one to gently pat the cloth dry. 

Against the bright white color of the terrycloth, Sara's wedding ring gleamed in contrast, and she suddenly had to make sure Nick was wearing his. When she saw he wasn't, her stomach lurched. Bile rose in her throat, and she could barely lean in to ask him where it was. He saw her troubled expression, and gave her a sheepish smile as he dug it out of his pocket. He handed it to her, and silently, she stared up at him, her head cocked. He held his hand out, and Sara's lips parted slightly to take in a hitched breath. She had to look down to steady her trembling hands before she gently slipped the ring onto his finger. She looked back up at him, stricken, unable to speak. Nick was almost left breathless by the look of incredible sadness in her eyes. It was as if she only just realized why they were both there. 

Stepping into the viewing room, she saw Edna in a chair, closest to the door, blubbering. Another woman sat next to her with a small child in her arms that had welts on his legs. A mischievous-looking lad sat next to her, eyeing his brother speculatively. Sara figured that this was the poor kid who'd been chased around by a weedeater, and immediately felt very sorry for him. She passed Davis and Hancock, who were both trying very hard not to shed tears also. Junior Caldwell was sitting alone, a hankie up to his eyes, sniffling bravely. 

Sara looked to the back of the room, where Bryce Caldwell was scanning the surroundings with indifferent eyes. His only indication that he saw them was a slight nod, not even accompanied with eye contact. She slowly slid past several other mourners and into a seat, and Nick followed, mumbling apologies undoubtedly for shoes he was stepping on in the process. 

Two men stood at the front of the room, looking sad but grateful as a line of people proceeded to shake hands. The younger of the two, Max's son, was probably about eighteen, and looked to have been burdened a lot by life. Sara knew from reading the report that he was the one who had found his mother, dead, by only a few hours. The report also stated he had been kept over several nights in the St. John's Psychiatric Ward, suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Sara's heart grew heavy at the thought of that young man being forever haunted by the images of his mother's murder. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, rock him, explain that one day, she wouldn't be the first thing he thought of every day when he woke, and the only thing he could dream about at night. 

Officer Reinhardt was on the other end of the room, in a position similar to Bryce Caldwell's, and Sara was sure he wasn't the only one watching. She was supposed to be watching to, cataloguing people's reactions, but she found she couldn't. They were all here in a moment of grief, even the killer, perhaps. Sara couldn't make accusations with the cacophony of pain rising up in the room around her. She looked forward, seeing Lacy McReynolds, Kelly Leads, Mackey Charles and Danielle Steel, all standing over the casket, and looking very grieved indeed. Sara wondered how much guilt each of them felt for not coming forward, for not reporting their own attacks. She knew each of them wondered what had made Max different, and would she be next? She knew they all feared that, and at the same time, were infinitely relieved about their own survival. She wondered if the funeral would be a catalyst for one of them to step up to the plate. 

Ted Pemberly sat by himself, crying as if his heart would break. Sara immediately felt very guilty for ever suspecting him. He shot frequent longing looks over to Buck Yates, whose cool expression faltered several times, especially as the priest stepped forward to begin the service. Everyone quietly took their seats, and there was a requisite amount of rustling for more tissues, gum, candy and other distractions. Nick was holding a small pocket-pack of Kleenex, and Sara's heart leapt as she wondered what she had done to deserve this man. 

Pemberly was in good company, for a few seats down, Dennis Behr ducked down his head, and Sara could see his back shaking with silent sobs. With surprise, she noticed her own tears were stinging her eyes, and slowly making the slide down her cheeks. She had a sudden, irrational memory of putting on waterproof mascara, and was grateful. Nick handed her a tissue, and she immediately wiped her tears away. 

The priest began a rambling homily about the senseless tragedy of Maxwell's death and the loving warmth of God's arms. Sara couldn't look up, couldn't look anywhere but her lap, where she realized, with some surprise, that Nick had taken her hand and had interlocked their fingers. She pressed their palms closer together, just to see if she could, and Nick squeezed back. 

A hand on Nick's shoulder caused them both to turn around to see Captain Yessen without a handkerchief, and Sara handed him one wordlessly. He dabbed at his eyes, and beyond him, Sara could see Captain Barclay also looking red-rimmed, and she couldn't even find the energy to be angry with him for using before the service. 

The service was short, and Sara watched with interest as Nick crossed himself at regular intervals, obviously out of respect for tradition. Most everyone but Sara took communion, and the benediction was short and gently whispered by those around her. She almost lost Nick in the crush of people around her as the service ended, she felt lost, and she felt as if she were being taken away by the tide, farther and farther away from him. She lost sight of him completely, and she had almost begun to panic when she felt his presence behind her and his gentle hand on her shoulder. 

The emotion was overwhelming her, and her empathetic heart was breaking as she watched Max's son quickly skirt out the side door in tears. The rest of the attendees filed out the front door towards the cemetery that was located across the street from the funeral home. The sparse rain had stopped, and steam rose from the pavement as the noon sun baked the concrete dry. 

The hearse pulled out onto the street and in through the gate and as they approached the graveside, Sara almost stumbled on her own clumsy feet. Junior Caldwell was behind her, and caught her under the arms, hoisting her back up without a second thought. His look was sad, but Sara mumbled a thanks and a grateful smile. Nick pulled a possessive arm around her shoulder, and Sara snuggled into it. Standing at the rear of the group, she watched as the final blessings were given. 

Bob Maxwell moved forward to place a rose on the casket, followed by his son, who deposited the rose and then buried his face into his father's side. Father and child slowly moved off, where arms were tangled as both sought to relieve each other from the agony they felt. 

Maxwell's sergeants and the chief of police said a few words of eulogy in her honor, and then vacated the front of the tent where other mourners were gathered. 

A woman stepped forward with long, dark hair and eyes that were obscured by sunglasses. She propped them up onto her head and Sara felt tumultuous energy shoot through her body as the woman knelt by the casket and placed her rose and a handful of dirt on top of the other flowers that laid there. She wasn't shy; a long, slow sob erupted from her throat, which quickly turned into a wail. Sara watched with horrified fascination as the woman broke down into violent tears and then muttered at the sky a handful of words in Yiddish, which Sara assumed could only be curses flung at God. 

Officer Hancock broke free from the crowd and quickly went to her side, pulling her to her feet, and leading her away. Sara had seen the beautiful and devastated Isabel Shepard for the first time, and knew she would always remember the image. She could not remember ever seeing anything so forlorn, and devoid of hope. 

Nick held her closer as the service concluded without further disruption. The mass of people broke, some going to commiserate with the inconsolable family, others already moving towards their cars in a hurry, ready to be rid of the grief that plagued them. Yet others formed small groups to talk about how lovely the service was, or where they were going to meet for lunch, or if everyone was meeting up later to watch the game and have a beer in the memory of a good friend. 

Sara left Nick's side to go to the casket, where she dropped one of the small flowers and brushed away the tears that she couldn't help but release. She stood, unable to stem the flow, and she felt the absurd need to promise Max that she would not let her death go without justice. 

A cold hand on her arm brought her attention straight into the ethereal face of Isabel Shepard. 

"Mary Sark?" her teary voice was high and delicate. 

"Isabel Shepard." Sara's response was more of a statement than a question. 

"Yes. I was Max's..." 

"I know who you are," Sara responded, not unkindly. 

"Sark, I never intended this to happen," Isabel broke down into fresh tears, and hurriedly wiped them away. 

Sara didn't know what to say, so she allowed Isabel to continue without encouragement. 

"Max told me who you were and why you were here. I have to help you. I can't let her death be in vain," Isabel's voice had dropped to nearly a whisper, and Sara felt the need to glance over her shoulder for eavesdroppers. Only Hancock and Reinhardt were still standing around, unquestionably to escort Isabel home. Junior Caldwell and Dennis Behr were still talking to Bob Maxwell, and Nick was shooting her curious looks from under the tent. 

"I can only help you if you're willing to testify," Sara murmured, turning back to Isabel Shepard. 

"I have nothing else left to lose. My own life is nothing without hers," she said, sorrowful. Sara wondered what Gray Hancock would think of that, or Mr. Shepard, for that matter.

"Well, why don't you come to my home, tomorrow night, around seven? My husband and I would love to have you over for dinner, and then we can talk," Sara's voice broke when Isabel tearfully nodded and pressed a rose petal into her hand. 

She didn't wait to find out where Sara lived, and Sara knew immediately that she didn't need to ask. She walked away, and took Hancock's hand as they headed toward the pebbly path out to the street. Nick joined her and took her own hand as they left the cemetery. 

Sara and Nick arrived back at the apartment and Sara immediately sat on the couch, needing just a few minutes to sort out her thoughts and the roller coaster of emotions she'd been on the last few hours. She was surprised a few minutes later when Nick called her over to eat the sandwiches that he'd made. She was grateful for his attention, and devoured her meal hungrily, almost disappointed when she was finished. Nick offered to make her another, but she shook her head in dismissal. He gathered their paper plates, and Sara stood to wander into the bedroom. 

She changed from her funeral attire back into her tank top and shorts, and stood in front of the mirror, removing the makeup from her tear-stained face. She went to the bed, and like a sleepy cat, crawled under the covers. A few minutes later, Nick came in and Sara heard him undressing in the closet, rummaging around as he hung up his suit and tie. 

He approached the bed wearing an old Rice t-shirt and his boxer shorts and Sara lifted up the blanket to allow him to join her in bed. 

"I feel like someone has uncorked me and poured me down the drain," Sara admitted. 

Nick sighed through his nose and gave her a hug before pulling away. She drifted back to her side of the bed and was asleep within minutes. 

When Nick awoke, it was to the sound of knocking. Looking at the clock showed it was just a little after three in the afternoon, meaning they'd been asleep for several hours. Rubbing the back of his head, he sat up and went to the door, shutting it quietly behind him. He came back a few minutes later, and got back into bed. 

"Solicitor?" Sara mumbled sleepily. 

"Caldwell," Nick muttered, rolling over onto his side to face her. 

Sara immediately stiffened. "What now?" Her tone was almost petulant. 

"Nothing," Nick replied, leaning forward to lay a soft kiss on her forehead. 

"Nothing, nothing? Caldwell doesn't come over here for nothing." 

"He wanted to see you. I told him no." 

"No?" Sara eyebrows rose. "You can't just tell him 'no.'"

Nick scooted closer, nuzzling her ear softly. "I'm here to protect you." 

Sara pulled back, only momentarily, to stare at him, astonished, before bringing her lips to his. A delightful shiver of anticipation ran through her body as Nick deepened the kiss. This was it. The door was locked, the blinds closed, and there would be no more interruptions. 

If she'd been told at the beginning of this ordeal that she'd be in Nick's arms, sex imminent, and her wanting it, wanting him—she wouldn't have believed it. But she did, she wanted him so much. He had fire to match hers. She wanted to feel his skin pressed against hers, his sweat mingling with hers, kissing her, kissing everywhere.

Nick moaned into her mouth and Sara loved the little whimpers he made as he reached out to hesitantly feel her body. Gathering more courage, he began to insistently tug at straps of her tank top, and Sara assisted him in getting them off of her shoulders. Nick pushed the top down to expose her breasts, sighing deeply as he buried his face into her curves, wrapping a hot tongue around a swollen nipple and sucking. Hard. 

Sara grabbed a fistful of blankets and arched against his mouth, moaning deliriously. Nick's wet mouth against her skin was like touching her tongue to a battery. The electricity hummed through her, singing through her veins in pure pleasure. 

She impatiently tugged his shirt over his head, and he could hardly break the kiss long enough to allow her to complete this task. His fingers played at the waistband of her bottoms, teasing her unintentionally. Sara met his mouth, pulling him closer to her by cupping her hands around his face. 

Nick thought surely this was the most mind-drugging contact he had ever experienced, she was intoxicating him via her sizzling skin and kiss-hungry mouth. He was sliding, skidding towards the precipice of control, and letting go to hurtle over the edge was not an option. 

He took control by yanking her panties down her legs, and she rolled her hips to assist him in this endeavor. His hands tumbled back up her legs and torso until he reached her elbows. He ran his hands up her forearms tantalizingly, capturing her wrists. Meeting her mouth again, he thrust his tongue inside, and was filled with lust when Sara responded ardently underneath him. He gently pinned her arms to the bed, pressing his bare chest against hers, savoring the soft skin of her breasts against his hairless skin. His nipple made contact with one of hers, and she bucked against him in almost unbearable feeling. He found he could hardly stop to pull her tank top back up over her breasts and over her head. He tossed it on the floor, and found only one last cloth barrier. 

He wasted little time shedding his boxers, and found Sara's hands were at his hips, urging him closer to her, and when he made contact with her thigh, she became most insistent. 

Their bodies coming together was like fire meeting fire. Nick was sure unconsciousness was near when Sara began writhing beneath him, meeting each of his thrusts with one of her own. He sucked at her collarbone, eliciting shakes and moans of pleasure. It was all she could do to wind her fingers through his hair and hang on for the ride. 

Her pants told him she was getting closer and closer to climax, and her sweet, usually uncommunicative mouth was suddenly telling him everything he needed to know. 

"Don't stop...right there...oh, God, don't stop, please don't stop...I can't take it...oh, Nick, right there..." and with a delayed cry of ecstasy, Sara's body took flight. "I'm free," she whispered. 

Nick wasn't far behind her, and a few more strokes sent him over the same cliff of fulfillment that Sara had just dived off of. Not wanting to hurt her, he lifted himself from her body, and then, unable to break the connection, he pulled her under his arm and held her as she came reeling back to Earth, back to her corporeal form, and back to his embrace. 

It was only minutes before she was fast asleep once more and Nick found he didn't have any trouble joining her. 

TO BE CONTINUED, expediently. 

Notes: Sorry this chappie was so short, kiddos, but it had to be since it was so "action-packed" giggles helplessly. Ahh, so anyway, the next chapter's going to be a monstrosity of verbiage, so just prepare yourselves...


	9. The Choice, part 9

The Choice, Chapter 9

Sara awoke slowly, letting her mind languish in a peaceful dreamy state of pre-consciousness. Feeling the delicious soreness of lovemaking was like feeling the sun on her face for the first time. Nick had made love to her. She had made love with Nick. They had done the hot, naked monkey dance of lust and come out unscathed. Okay, maybe a little scathed. 'Make that a lot,' Sara thought as she stretched her body, feeling the little nips and bruises across her torso where Nick had applied his tongue and teeth. She murmured delightedly when she smelled the thick scent of her favorite coffee. 

Rising, she went to shower, cataloguing each mark that Nick had given her pale skin as she soaped her body. She washed her hair slowly, standing lazily under the hot spray, luxuriating in the feel of wet warmth and a deep sense of fulfillment. 

When she emerged from the bathroom, she dried off and slipped into panties and her favorite pair of jeans. She found a clean bra, and picked her favorite dark blue t-shirt, knowing that Nick loved her in blue. She wandered out into the living room, her wet hair a mess and she idly wondered where she had left her hairbrush. 

Nick was sitting on the couch, staring into a cup of coffee as if it were about to produce the answers of life. His bare chest was bronzed, and did not sport a single indicator of the wildest night of passion that Sara, at least, had ever experienced. 

"Hi, babe," her throaty voice sent chills to his nether regions. 

"Sara," Nick cleared his throat, and Sara's heart immediately skipped a beat. He looked up to see a painful look of longing spread across her features. "Come here." 

"Please, don't, Nick," her voice was stilted, her heart fearing rejection. 

"No, it's not that," he acknowledged, and she sat down next to him gingerly, waiting for him to speak. 

Finally he found the words, "the Rapist took another victim." 

Sara gasped, "dead?" 

Nick shook his head. "Caldwell, uh, he wants you down at the hospital to talk to Officer Pemberly." 

"Pemberly...but he's..." 

"I know," Nick shrugged helplessly, then cleared his throat again. "But you know better than anyone that rape is not about sex. It's about power and rage." 

"Well, yes, but most serials don't change their MO." 

"Our guy's already done that," Nick replied. 

"That's true," Sara nodded, anticipating his response. "I'll go," she turned to look at him and found he was already staring at her, his eyes tormented with a pain she didn't understand. 

"Sara, I..." Nick began, and then unable to find the words, he faltered. 

Sara stayed on her side of the couch a moment longer before leaning forward quickly and kissing him soundly. She broke away after just a few seconds to see him looking surprised. She smiled, impishly, before grabbing her bag and hairbrush from off of the coffee table and sailing out the door. 

"Ted Pemberly, please," Sara's voice was hushed as she flashed her badge at the nurse on duty. The nurse softly gave her directions to one of the examination rooms around the corner, and that was where Sara found him, alone. 

She stood in the doorway, and saw him sitting on the edge of the table, facing the wall. His arms were wrapped around his waist as if he were nauseated. 

"Hi, Officer Iworkinrecords," Sara said gently. 

"Oh, Detective!" Pemberly's hands came up to his face in surprise, and she stepped forward into the room and closed the door. "What are you doing here?" 

Sara gave him a soft, sad face, and his eyes showed the dawning of recognition. 

"No, no, I can't!" he insisted. 

"Pem, you have to," she urged, sitting across from him on the doctor's stool and taking one of his hands. 

"No, I can't. And why would they send Vice down here anyway?" 

"I know...what it feels like...to be...a victim," Sara began, her voice catching. 

"Please, Sark, save it. I know it all. Heard it all. Mostly in the last two hours. I _can't_ tell you what happened to me." 

"Why?" She asked, already knowing the answer. 

His answer was simple, and full of bitter pain. "Because I've been given _The Choice_." 

"The Choice? The Choice, what does that mean?" Sara blurted helplessly. 

"I think you'd better leave," Pemberly wrapped his arms around himself once more, claming up. 

"Please. Give me _something_. For Max..." 

Pemberly's eyes flashed angrily. "What about _me_? What about the people I _love_?" His eyes then filled with tears, and he gestured with one hand for Sara to leave. 

"Please, Pem," Sara pleaded. She watched him stay silent for several long minutes before she gave up hope. 

Sighing heavily, she stood, reaching out a hand to tenderly squeeze his shoulder before stepping away. She closed the door and walked back towards the entrance of the hospital with a heavy heart, and clapping a hand over her ear, she realized that she'd have to go back to the apartment for her hearing aid. 

When she arrived, Nick was fresh from a shower and looking sexy in nothing but his jeans. He stood at the closet door, holding up shirts. 

"Good, you're home. Blue? Or blue?" he called as she came to stand in the doorway of the bedroom, facing the open closet. 

"Depends," she answered shortly. "Who are you trying to impress?" 

"Blue it is, then, Sunshine," he discarded on of the shirts, and pulled the other one over his head. "You're pissed, and you're gonna love this!" he mumbled sarcastically. His crown appeared, and then his nose and mouth. He adjusted his collar. "Caldwell's pulling in Isabel Shepard for questioning." 

"Fuck!" Sara spat. "Why?" 

"Oh, it gets better," he turned to her and picked through socks. "He's charging her." 

"No," Sara felt sick. 

"Oh, yes. Accessory to murder. He knows he can't hold her, but he's hoping it will get her in there long enough to put the squeeze on her, and get a name." 

"Nick, no," Sara moaned, rubbing her face with her hands in agony and shame. "Don't let him do this." 

"I told him that if he didn't let me conduct the interview, I would call Shepard beforehand and get her lawyered up before she came in." 

Sara put a relieved hand to her chest. 

"Nick, we can't blow it with her. She has to know she can trust us," Sara stepped forward to meet him in the middle of the bedroom. 

"Singing to the choir, babe," he smoothed down his hair. He sat down on the bed, unrolling his socks. 

"Preaching." 

"Huh?" 

"It's, uh, preaching. You're preaching to the choir." 

"Well, whatever," he grinned, charmingly. "Same difference." 

Sara shook her head, not feeling like an argument. 

"I forgot my earpiece," she stated, holding it up. 

"Did anyone see you?" Nick looked up sharply from his place on the bed, where he was putting on his socks. 

"No, no one. Well, Pemberly, but he wouldn't have noticed if I came in dressed like Mango singing show tunes." 

Nick shook his head, amused, and leaned over to lace up his boots. 

"Sara, I think every man in Reno would have noticed you in gold lamé shorts and high heels." 

Sara rolled her eyes. 

"So what did he say?" Nick grunted, tying the laces on his left shoe. 

"He said he'd been given The Choice. The all-mysterious choice that we keep hearing so much about." Sara tried very hard not to sound exasperated. 

Nick mulled over this as he pulled on his other shoe and began lacing it. 

"Anyway, I asked him to give me _something_ and he just freaked out. Asked me 'what about him and his family?' Like it was one or the other," she shrugged, feeling deadlocked and hampered, but not knowing quite what to do to combat the growing frustration. 

He looked up, and took her hand, yanking her downwards onto the bed next to him. She tumbled across the bed, her hair spilling across the mattress. Nick flopped backwards next to her and took her into his arms. 

He waited for her to stop her good-natured grumbling before kissing her passionately. Tangling his fingers through her hair, he explored her mouth thoroughly, and became more and more responsive as she did. Only their mutual need to breathe separated them, and both took in heaving pants, their foreheads pressed together. 

"I feel like kissing you is so strange, and at the same time, so good," he confessed. 

"Me, too," Sara replied. 

"I feel like I could make love to you again, right now, and not feel guilty about it at all." 

"I know," she nodded, leaning forward to kiss him. He wrapped his arms firmly around her waist and rolled over onto his back, taking her with him. 

"I feel like our bodies..." he was interrupted by the need to kiss her again, swirling his tongue deep into her mouth. They parted for only seconds, while he murmured, "...were made for..." before coming together again explosively, touching wildly. 

Sara tore her mouth away from his, panting, "Fucking?" 

Nick moaned, and caught her mouth again in a searing kiss, and then rolled her onto her back, underneath him. 

"You just put your shoes on," she pointed out as they broke apart. 

"They come off," he grinned, already kicking them off of his feet. 

He reached for the snap on her jeans, and pulled them down her legs in one quick yank. He immediately divested her of the rest of her clothes, and Sara let him. Usually, she vied for control during sex, but for reasons she couldn't comprehend; she was willing to let him take the lead, at least for the time being. 

Being with Nick reminded her that there was good in the world. He was doing things to her body that made her forget about sin, and pain and death. He was reviving her. She couldn't think about Pemberly, or Max, or Caldwell, or even poor Isabel Shepard, who would never find peace without her partner. It was amazing the things people took for granted. 

Nick scooted down the bed and before Sara knew it he was gently parting her thighs. She knew where he was headed, and she held her breath, steeling herself for the awkwardness and the bitching about obligation that men usually gave her, even during the act itself. 

Nick leaned forward, looking up to make sure she was comfortable. He saw her hands clutching the blankets beneath her, her knuckles white. Her legs were spread formally, almost as if she were waiting for a gynecological exam. 

He reached for her hands, gently smoothing his rough palms across the backs of her knuckles, causing her to release her hold on the duvet. He whispered "relax" several times as he began raining kisses on her thighs and belly. Finally, she did relax some, and Nick began to make love to her with his mouth. 

Raking his nails up and down her thighs lightly at intervals caused her to tense again, but in the most delightful manner. A long, slow groan of anticipation met his ears, and he grinned. 

As began to build her fire, she became restless, eager for more. Nick's jaw dropped and he almost stopped when he saw her reach out and begin to rub and fondle her own breasts. Rolling a hard nipple between thumb and forefinger, coupled with the sensations Nick was providing with his tongue, she was bucking off of the bed in near-orgasmic bliss. He gently brought his hand the center of her warmth, and that contact sent her over the edge. 

The moan that was caught in her throat was one of happy satisfaction. Nick relinquished his hold on her thighs, and crawled up to rest on the bed next to her. 

"You're still dressed," Sara said, surprised, when she looked over at him. She became shy, and her eyes dropped. "Do you want me to...I mean, do you want to...?" 

Nick shook his head, gazing down on her. His left hand propped his head up on the mattress, and Sara reached one arm through his to hold his head still while she proceeded to kiss him deeply. 

"That masturbation thing, earlier...that was so hot," he murmured once they had parted, grinning. Sara ducked her head again, and Nick could have sworn she was blushing. He couldn't be sure, though, because in the next second, her hand was down the front of his jeans and she was giving him a run for his money. 

"Oh, God!" he yelped when he felt her hand rubbing against the length of him. 

"How hot?" she challenged. 

He shot her a look that clearly advised her he didn't find her nearly so amusing as she found herself. In the next second, his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. It didn't take Sara long to bring him to climax, and when she did, he had his face buried in her neck, and was sending hot pants across her cooling skin. 

She removed her hand from his jeans, and wrinkled her nose as she rose, heading for the bathroom. She was at the sink, washing her hands, when Nick wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. 

"I haven't come in my pants since I was about twelve," he admitted, placing a nip on her shoulder. Sara felt the wet fabric of Nick's jeans against the bare skin of her bottom. 

She cleared her throat. "I have to go to work. It's already nine," she admonished him. He released her, and she turned in his arms, giving him several languid kisses before ducking under his arm and going to find her clothes. 

"I can't believe that jerk is pulling her in to interrogate her," Sara left the bedroom, headed towards the kitchen. "I already told him I was interviewing her tonight, here," she called. She rummaged through the cabinets for her coffee mug, and yawned.

"Don't you have a meeting with the Chief of Police later today?" Nick called back. 

"Yes, at three. He wants to go over staff development with me. He is convinced I have some inside scoop on hierarchy or management. I think he actually believes my 'background.' 

She poured a cup of coffee into her thermal cup, and found her sunglasses, remembering to finally put in her hearing aid. 

"Hey, did we ever figure out where Caldwell's personnel file went?" She hollered to Nick, who was still lost somewhere in the bedroom. 

"It's right here," a stony voice replied. 

Sara almost yelped and flung her coffee to parts unknown when she realized Bryce Caldwell was sitting in the living room. He looked as casual as anything, relaxed in the armchair as if he had nothing better to do. 

"Captain Caldwell!" 

"Mrs. Sark," he intoned, carefully avoiding inflection. 

"W-What are you doing here?" she stammered. 

"Coming by to drop off these remaining files," he gestured towards the coffee table, where indeed, several folders had been placed. 

The bedroom door opened and Nick stepped out, looking towards the kitchen where Sara was standing. "Thanks for making me change my pants," he jabbed. Sara's wide-eyed look of fear registered and his gaze swung across the room in a wide arc, coming to rest on Caldwell. Sara saw the muscles in his neck and chest immediately tense. 

"How long have you been here?" Nick demanded. 

"Long enough," was his monotone reply. He carefully smoothed his tie down as he stood. "Have a good day, agents." He was out the door before Nick could speak again. 

"What do you think he heard?" Nick questioned, turning to Sara. 

"Everything," she muttered, defeated. "He could report us for inappropriate conduct, fraternization. We could be discharged from this case." 

"He won't do that," Nick said, confident. "He can't make that risk now. We're undercover, deep cover. To pull us out now would be way too suspicious." 

"I wouldn't put anything past him," Sara said darkly. 

"He's dependent on us, at least for the time being. Let's just take it one step at a time. We have no idea what his motivation is at this point," Nick finally pointed out. 

"I'm just embarrassed. Ashamed," Sara couldn't meet his eyes. 

Nick paused, uncertain. "Ashamed that it happened? Or ashamed that we were caught?" 

"That we were caught...of course," 

"Good," Nick came around the edge of the bar and pulled her into a companionable hug. "I don't regret anything, Sara." 

Sara shook her head against his chest in response, but didn't say anything. 

"I have to go," she finally said, stepping out of his embrace. "I'll be home for dinner." She gathered her things and headed for the door. She had it open, her right hand juggling her keys and bag and her left hand occupied with her coffee cup. 

"Sara," Nick's voice broke, and she looked back up at him, perplexed. "I love you." 

She gave him a mysterious smile before leaving, shutting the door behind her. 

Sara finished the day worried as hell that Isabel was going to crack in her interrogation. Nick had mentioned they were pulling her in at five, and if all went well, they'd be there for several hours. She'd ridden with Officer Kukyendahl until around two, and then gone back to her desk to fill out "reports" until it was time for her meeting with Chief Abernathy. Really, she just sat there and worried about Nick, worried about Isabel Shepard, worried about what Bryce Caldwell was going to do to her. She was still sitting at her desk, watching the clock, when three o'clock rolled around, and she had to fight the urge to call Nick and tell him to go easy. 

When Abernathy pulled her in at three, she found that he and the Mayor had gotten together to ambush her to get details about the investigation. She answered the questions to the best of her ability, relaying her concerns about Caldwell's attitude, particularly towards the female victims, and the several "missing" personnel files that he'd come to give her that morning. She didn't report his entry into the apartment, or the casual state of undress they'd been in prior to and after his arrival. 

Abernathy didn't seem concerned by either, but the Mayor watched her every move, as if committing it to memory, and nodded at regular intervals. Sara idly wondered if they'd even say anything to Caldwell about it. Probably not. 'Boys will be boys,' she thought bitterly, knowing Caldwell would get the benefit of the doubt.

They released her at five fifteen, much to her consternation. She'd done her best to speed things along to be allowed to leave in time to be with Nick during the interrogation. Entering late might tear down any trust and rapport that had already been established. Her other option was observing from behind the mirror, but that might mean two or more hours with Bryce Caldwell. Not only would it be annoying as hell, but also embarrassing to boot. 

As she walked back to her desk, she had an idea. She couldn't watch the interrogation, but Nick would report everything faithfully and would probably even bring her a copy of the recording so that they could listen to it together later. He was such a good man. She wanted to go home and make him dinner. A very domestic move, but perfect to show him how much she really cared. Nick was always so good about coming home, making dinner for them both every night, and she'd hardly even lifted a finger the entire time they'd been there. Sara decided to kill two birds with one stone. Go home, cook for Nick, and hopefully keep her mind distracted enough from analyzing herself to death every minute that Isabel was in interrogation.

She gathered up her bags and purse, and again resisted the very strong urge to go out the back and step into the observatory, even for just a few minutes. She figured no one would miss her around the bullpen, so she slipped out the front door. Taking the front steps of the station house two at a time, she got into her car in the parking lot and fired it up. She debated just picking something up for dinner and telling Nick she made it, but then decided she'd actually rather cook. 

She went through the very short list of things she actually knew how to make, and was coming up short. Spaghetti, tuna casserole, soft tacos, and pancakes. She decided on pasta, knowing it was a mutual favorite. She couldn't hardly keep the smile from her face as she drove to Marty's Market, imagining Nick's shy surprise when he came back to find dinner prepared and her, ready to be...er, briefed. Briefly.

She practically floated in the doors of the supermarket. 

"Hi, Isabel," Nick took a seat across from Isabel, easing down into the chair across from the frightened woman. "I'm Sam Sark, Mary Sark's husband, and I'm assisting in the investigation. 

"Where is Mary? I only want to talk to Mary," Isabel had stiffened, and her voice was high and strained. 

"She unfortunately couldn't be here now," he smiled sympathetically. "She had a meeting with the Chief of Police this afternoon. But please, know that everything you tell me will be relayed to her verbatim," he pulled out the mini-recorder and put it in the table between them. She knew it was being recorded in the other room, but those tapes wouldn't be able to leave the station house. 

"Am I being charged?" Isabel narrowed her eyes. 

"No," Nick's voice was soft, and as comforting as he could make it. "You're not being charged. But I would like for you to cooperate with me, and Mrs. Sark, of course." 

"Who's listening now?" 

"Bryce Caldwell," he answered immediately, sensing that being forthright would be the only way to gain her trust. 

"Anyone else?" 

"Not to my knowledge, ma'am." 

"Make him leave," Isabel demanded. 

"I can't..." Nick began to protest. 

"I won't talk to you unless he's gone," she insisted, crossing her arms around her breasts protectively. Nick could almost imagine Caldwell behind the mirror scowling. 

Nick stood and entered the observatory, and looked at Caldwell pointedly. 

"I'm not leaving," Caldwell shook his head. 

"She won't talk. Do you want to get something out of this or not?" 

"I'll...charge...her," Bryce Caldwell enunciated, as if Nick were a very small child, or drunk.

"Not without the D.A. you won't," Nick rolled his eyes. 

"Bluff," Caldwell scoffed. 

"No. I won't lie. You'll have the tapes, listen to them later," Nick gestured to the recording equipment Caldwell was standing in front of. 

Caldwell gritted his teeth and stalked out of the observatory. He'd probably just wait five minutes and come back, but at least he could tell Isabel with certainty that he was gone for the time being. 

"He's gone," Nick's sigh of relief was almost as big as Isabel's was, and they sat across from each other, staring at each other speculatively. 

Sara chose fresh pasta, the refrigerated tubs of Alfredo sauce and swung her cart down the aisle on the prowl for broccoli. She also picked up the bagged salad, and smelled the fruit in fleeting bursts, wondering if she should go for the gold and attempt some kind of dessert. Wandering down the frozen foods solved that dilemma, as she picked out her favorite flavor of Ben and Jerry's and tried to remember if Nick loved the Caramel Sutra or the Fudge Brownie…

"Okay, Mrs. Shepard, I know this is difficult, but we need to know who attacked you," Nick began, turning on the recorder. 

"Have you ever been attacked, Mr. Sark?" 

Nick's eyes hardened, and he cleared his throat. "This is about you, Mrs. Shepard." 

"I know a victim when I see one," Isabel leaned forward. "And I know vulnerability when I see it, now, too. And I realize how very vulnerable I'd been all that time and not even known it." 

"You couldn't have known what was going to happen to you, we can't live our lives in fear of what may never happen." 

Isabel smiled bitterly, "but we can be prepared." 

"That's true. We can be prepared. We just can't worry about everything." 

"My mother always said, it's the people you trust the most that betray you. I always thought it was a riddle. Now I see. If you don't love, there is no disappointment." 

"Mrs. Shepard, please...who has betrayed you?"

Sara picked out a baguette and then had to run back for a marinara dipping sauce. She chose a salad dressing at random, not sure if there was any back at the apartment. On her way up to the counter, she stopped short. She wondered if she should get meat. Could she even cook it? What if she just got the bottled sauce with meat already in it? Deciding Nick's arteries didn't need to be clogged anymore than they already were, she began walking again. 

"Why Max, of course. I told her not to do it. I told her it was too dangerous, that he would come for her too. Of course she didn't listen." 

"Who would come for her?" 

Isabel looked up, as if surprised. "She never could take my advice, or take a hint. We were both so stubborn. Only she was so much stronger than I was. She stayed behind, knowing he was here." 

"Who?" 

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't just spit out the name you want, Mr. Sark. You may have forgotten that I was given _The Choice_. I didn't take it lightly then, and I certainly won't take it lightly now." 

Nick sighed, outmaneuvered for the time being. "Okay. No names. Let's just start by talking about The Choice." 

Sara paid for the groceries and swung her bags cheerfully on her way out to the parking lot. She couldn't imagine anything more enjoyable than a nice dinner, a movie, and a night alone with Nick. They would drink the wine, make out during the movie, and then with any luck, they'd end up in bed. And sleep would be hours away... 

All Sara could think about was Nick's hands on her body, stoking her fire, making her sweat and writhe and cry out. His fingers and tongue were like magic wands, making her feel—much more than she ever thought she could. She'd had limited experiences with men, and hadn't been too impressed. Until him. She sighed dreamily. 

Isabel finished her story, looking at Nick with wide, frightened eyes. Nick was breathless, sweating, and aching with new knowledge. He saw the apprehension in her gaze, and she leaned back to protect herself by wrapping arms around her torso once more. He understood. He believed her. She'd been given the Choice. The most terrible choice he could ever comprehend, and she'd been so brave. 

He'd been listening to Sara all afternoon on his earpiece, listening to her rustling around, humming, buying groceries. And now nothing. _It could be nothing._

"It won't be too hard to find him. And you have my testimony," Isabel leaned forward and put her hand on Nick's. "I have nothing left to lose." 

Nick's heart stopped in his chest when he heard Isabel's chair creak. The line in his ear had gone completely silent. She was still regarding him fearfully. He stood quickly. 

"Mrs. Shepard, take my phone. Call your husband to come and get you. Don't let anyone else in this room"

She was bewildered to say the least. "Where are you going?"

Nick's voice broke, "I can't hear my wife." 

Sara made her way over to the car and unlocked the passenger side door, loading the groceries into the tiny front seat. What she wouldn't give for her Tahoe right about now. She couldn't wait to get back to Las Vegas, to Catherine and Warrick and Grissom and her apartment, and her orchid, she hoped Cath was watering it, and feeding her fish. She never thought she'd be able to breeze by Grissom's name without a lump rising in her throat and making it impossible for her to speak. Now, it was like water off a duck's back. She smiled, smiled at the very thought of it. Smiled as she closed the door, and immediately stopped when she saw the reflection in her window. She quite suddenly knew who had been raping the officers of Reno.

TO BE CONTINUED, without a doubt. My little lamb chops. 


	10. The Choice, part 10

The Choice, Chapter 10 

Notes: Okay, guys, this is the big finale, and it is DARK. BE TOLD. This is not for the faint of heart. I have written and said sick things, for the integrity of the story. These are things that sicken me, too, and I don't advocate ANYTHING that happens herein...I had to warn you seriously, before jumping in...

July 18, 1987

Junior Caldwell nearly giggled in giddy anticipation. It was his eighth birthday, and his friends and family were gathered at the home of his Father for the biggest and best birthday party ever. They'd already had cake in the shape of a Ninja Turtle, ice cream and punch, and so much candy that they might never come down from their sugar-high. They'd opened presents, and he'd gotten everything he asked for, including a new go-cart to ride around the neighborhood. None of his friends had one yet, and he thought about making them pay to ride around in his. His older sister Genevieve had suggested games: piñata, pin-the-tail and hide and go seek, and Junior had agreed, knowing just where to hide. 

He was carefully tucked away in the huge armoire in his sister Kelly's room, with his hand gleefully clapped over his mouth, waiting for the moment when someone would fling open the door and discover him. He just hoped he wouldn't pee on himself or scream when they did. 

His sister Kelly stood at the door to her own bedroom, and noticing the door to her armoire was ajar, carefully began to tiptoe towards it. Junior had been a "surprise" to both of her parents, and was almost ten years younger than Kelly, their next-youngest. Kelly doted on Junior, took him everywhere, told everyone that he was her little pet, and he loved the attention. Kelly herself had planned the birthday party so that it would be more special, and arranged for Junior to have everything he had ever wanted. 

Junior watched as his brother Bryce entered the room and shut the door, locking it behind him. Bryce had come home from school especially for the party, and Junior couldn't wait to be alone with him to talk about school and girls. He watched as his brother and sister interacted, keeping quiet, hoping equally that they would and wouldn't find him. Upon her brother's entry, Kelly whirled around, surprised, and then narrowed her eyes at Bryce accusingly. 

"What are you doing in here, Bryce? This is my room!" Her voice sounded young and childish, even though she was only a month shy of being eighteen. 

"We're playing hide-and-go-seek, aren't we? You're hiding. I am but a seeker," he answered, his voice oily. 

"I'm not hiding. I'm looking for Junior," Kelly argued. 

"I think he's in Mother's room. Probably in her hope chest. You know he loves to hide there," Bryce came to stand next to her, and she repressed a shudder. He reached out to stroke her long, golden hair. Kelly had long felt threatened by her brother, but had never voiced it for fear of their Father's wrath. She never thought it was natural that her brother should be so interested in her, peeking in on her, staring at her intensely, and following her around the house. The few times that he came home to visit since he'd left for college, she stayed close by her mother's side, or stuck like glue to Genevieve, who was only a year older. She even went so far as to sleep in Genevieve's room when Bryce was home. She couldn't remember the last time she'd even been in the same room alone with him in years. 

"So...go find him, then," Kelly choked, uncomfortable by her older brother's mere presence. "Leave me alone." 

"C'mon, Kelly, why all this animosity? I'm your older brother," his tone didn't even come close to sincerity. He sidled closer to her, touching her back with his palm. Kelly jerked away from him, and he frowned. 

"Don't touch me, you creep!" she hissed, taking an enormous step backwards. 

"You slut!" Bryce took several steps closer to her until they were toe-to-toe. "Don't think I don't see you around here with all your boyfriends, and your drugs, your Highness." His smile was predatory. "I'll tell Dad you're sleeping with every black guy you can wrap your legs around." 

Kelly's eyes were wide and frightened. "He'll kill me." 

"Yes, he will," Bryce smiled hugely. He knew there was nothing his sister feared more than she feared their father; and there was nothing she wouldn't do to keep him happy. 

"What do you want from me?" her tone was guarded and Bryce leered at her. 

"No! You're sick!" she shoved her knuckles into his arm and jumped on her bed as if to escape across it and out the door. Bryce's hand shot out and wrapped firmly around her ankle, pulling her onto the bed in one solid jerk. 

"You're the one who is sick, you slut!" he clamped his hand over her mouth as he slithered on top of her to stare into her huge, teary, terrified eyes. "Sleeping with any guy who will have you, snorting anything and everything up your nose. I bet you even take it up your ass, you whore. You filthy whore." 

Kelly shook her head violently, desperate to get away from him. She struggled, but he just pinned her harder, with more force and sick glee. She tried to bite his hand, but her teeth just slid off his skin. She wondered if she would drown in her own saliva, but forced herself to swallow and to breathe. 

Bryce's smile widened. "I tell you what. I'm going to give you a choice. Either you're going to let me fuck you, right here and now, or I'm going to tell Dad what you do with every coon in Reno." 

Kelly gasped for breath as Bryce uncovered her mouth, then just as quickly covered it again. 

"Say it, Kelly," he sing-songed. "Or I'll fuck you anyway and tell Dad you begged for it." 

Tears were flowing from Kelly's eyes, blinding her, making it impossible to see her brother's menacing face. She heard it, though, in his voice, his tone. He was going to kill her, she was sure of it. But he didn't. He just mounted her, pulling her pants down around her knees and smothering her into the bed, humping until he was through and then standing up. 

He spit on her face as he pulled his shorts back on, and she cried while she pulled up her own shorts. He left the room in a cocky flourish, slamming the door behind him forcefully. 

Junior Caldwell stood in the armoire, his entire body shaking with silent sobs. He emerged and Kelly looked up from were she sat on the side of the bed, wiping the mucus of her face. Junior waddled over to her and threw his arms around her waist. She rocked him in her arms and cried. 

When Mrs. Caldwell found them an hour later, they were in the same position, their faces sad and solemn. She asked them what was wrong, questioned them for days, but neither lost their mournful demeanor. 

And nine months later, when Kelly gave birth, neither her mother nor her father could be angry with her, as they agreed her own melancholy, which threatened to overwhelm their entire family, was punishment enough. 

July 18, 2003

Nick was taking the corners on two wheels. Speeding furiously, he knew he should have paused long enough to grab a set of emergency lights for the top of his car. He hadn't, hadn't wanted to waste a single second. He flew through a red light, to the consternation and loudly blaring horns of other motorists. 

He made it to Marty's Market in less than seven minutes flat. Sara's car was, as was her usual custom, parked in the rear of the parking lot. There were plenty of empty spaces, but she loved the exercise. When Nick bitched at her, told her parking closer was safer, she always scoffed at him and reminded him that she did better on her yearly physicals than even he did. 

Around the open passenger door were bottles and jars and her bags, strewn around, and the receipt was blowing away. The crowd of onlookers around the car looked perplexed, and none of them ventured forward to touch anything. Nick's tires squealed as he jerked to a stop in front of the car. 

Jumping out, he immediately yelled, "Did anyone see what happened here?" 

The bystanders shook their heads, murmured negative replies. Nick was frantic, breathing hard, his heart practically beating out of his chest, and sweating. Sara's hearing aid was crushed into the asphalt, and the sight of it made Nick desperate. Sara would never willingly take it out, it was her only link to him. 

A cruiser swung into the parking lot and as it pulled up, Nick recognized Davis and Reinhardt from their personnel file photos. Davis was out of the car before Nick could yank the door open. 

"Hey, you're Sark's husband," he stated dumbly. 

"Poker nights!" Nick cried. "Where do you have poker night?" 

"Whoa, buddy, you just need to calm down." 

"He's got her! He's got Sar...my wife," Nick babbled. 

"Who's got her? What's this about?" Reinhardt approached him, his hand resting on his gun. 

"Look," Nick pulled out his wallet. "I'm LVPD. We're undercover to catch a serial rapist. For God's sake, Caldwell has got her! She's next, if we don't find her," he showed them both his badge, and then watched as they eyed it and then each other. 

"Maybe we should just all go in to the station and talk about this..." Davis suggested, but Nick only became more agitated. 

"Please, she's in danger. He could kill her; we have to leave now. Tell me where you have your poker nights. Tell me where he would take her," Nick begged. 

"Well, the old Caldwell place is over on Eighth street, but..." Davis began, still uncertain. 

"I'm going, I need backup," Nick was already headed to his car, running over. 

"We'll follow," Davis shrugged at Reinhardt helplessly and they both got back into their cruiser and followed Nick out of the parking lot. Davis turned the sirens and the lights on, which allowed Nick to travel at breakneck speed across the bridge and down rough streets towards the railroad tracks. Practically flying over them, he allowed the cruiser to overtake him finally when they reached Eighth Street, and as they pulled into the huge yard of one of the biggest houses Nick had ever seen, he knew that Caldwell had not brought her here. 

Jumping out of the car, he all but sprinted towards the door. Pounding it furiously, he heard creaking and saw pale gray eyes peek out at him from behind the curtain in the door pane. 

"Mrs. Leads?" he gasped. 

Sara was dreaming. Nick was there, and he was kissing her softly, and he smelled so good. A niggling in the back of her mind was telling her something wasn't right, but as long as she was in his arms, listening to him whisper sweet things to her, she didn't see how that could be so. She was swimming in a pool, so warm and cool at the same time. The cold water tickled at her neck, and the warm sun baked her skin. Nick swam over to her, pulling her into his embrace, allowing her to float on the top of the water as he held onto her face and kissed her, so softly, so sweetly. He loved her. He loved her, loved her. He lovedherlovedherlovedher…

"I don't know where he is!" Kelly Leads said again, exasperated. 

"Like I was trying to tell you, Sark. We have polker nights, here, but he's got his own place over on Lakeside," Davis's drawl was much too slow for Nick's rapid-fire thoughts. 

"You think he would go there?" Nick turned back towards Kelly, but she was withdrawn once again. 

"I already told you, I don't know. I don't know where he would go," she muttered. 

"How would I get there?" Nick insisted. 

"Well...you could take Eighth down to Guadalupe and make a right eight streets down onto Lakeside. His house is at 1578 Lakeside, but..." 

Nick was already bounding down the steps in front of the house out to the curb, waiting for nothing and no one. "I'll meet you over there," he called over his shoulder to a dumbfounded Reinhardt and Davis. They figured he was on a wild goose chase, but as long as he was on it, they reckoned they should follow him. 

"Let's take the shortcut and beat him there," Reinhardt suggested as they ambled back to the cruiser. 

"The way he drives, we'll be lucky if he doesn't get there first," Davis answered dryly, turning on the emergency siren as he pulled back onto the street. 

Nick rounded the corner onto Guadalupe, barely managing not to flip the car over as he was going so fast. He sped down the street, slamming on his brakes for a baseball game that was being held out in the middle of the street. It was familiar surroundings, Nick remembered this is where Sara had come after following Max home. He waited for the kids to clear the street, then carefully drove through them before slamming on the gas again. 

At the corner before Lakeside, he ran a stop sign, then glanced over to his left as her passed the large home were Max had lived. He could still see crime scene tape on the door, but there, hidden beneath willowy trees in the shade of the drive, was a dark green Chevy blazer. Nick slammed on the brakes, and turned the wheel into a spin, bringing it to a stop in front of the neighbor's home, facing the opposite direction. Getting out of the car, he pulled out his weapon and took the safety off. 

Sara awoke to a blinding pain throbbing across the back of her head. Coming to, she jerked against the restraints that were pinning her naked body to the bed. Looking down, knowing what was happening, she cried out in agony, pulling up against the ties binding her. She couldn't believe what was happening to her. _She never thought it could happen to her_. And now she might die because of that arrogance. 

Her heart clenched. She had to get through this. She had to survive. She'd hadn't told Nick she loved him, she never got the chance. Just this morning, he'd offered his love to her. She hadn't wanted to admit her feelings, not yet. And now she might never have the chance. She had to survive, if only to tell him she loved him back. She had to tell him how deep and perfect her love was. 

Sara began her struggle again. She bucked wildly for several minutes, clawing at the air futilely. She whimpered and screamed and finally stopped. From the dark corner of the bedroom, she heard a chuckle. Her heart jumped with fear as he stepped closer into the light. 

"Why are you doing this to me?" She begged. "We're friends!" 

"I'm no one's friend," his voice was ragged, his breathing heavy. His unearthly gray eyes glowed as he loomed over her. "You, Sara, my sweet angel, you finally get to make _The Choice_." 

"Junior, I..." at that moment, Nick burst through the door. 

Nick had quickly cleared the bottom floor of the Maxwell's home, and kept his stance as he crept up the wide staircase. He inspected all three bedrooms nearest to the hall, and then made his way down to what he only assumed could be the master bedroom. Everywhere there was evidence of the crime scene investigators, tick marks and indicators and numbered cards. 

He reached for the doorknob to the room at the end of the hall and kicked the door open. His beautiful Sara was tied spread eagle at the end of the bed, and Junior Caldwell was standing at her side, his gun trained on Nick. Nick aimed at Caldwell and it seemed the two were at a standoff until Nick felt the cold press of a gun barrel at the nape of his neck. 

Junior smiled, feral, as hot, sticky breath across the back of Nick's neck ordered him to drop the gun. Fearing Sara's safety, Nick dropped the gun. His hands were jerked behind him viciously, and handcuffed. He was forced into the room, and he stumbled over to the opposite corner. Junior Caldwell smiled and knelt down next to Sara, watched her eyes widen with terror. 

"I've never given someone the Choice quite like _this_ before," he stroked the back of his hand across her cheek, causing her to recoil. His voice was almost intimate, like a lover. 

"I've warmed up the curling iron especially for you. Do you want it? Or do you want to be given a choice?"

Sara's body felt frozen in fear. "The Choice," she gasped. 

"Your Choice is to be _savored_, my sweet angel. You've been looking for me for so long. You should get a very special Choice." 

Nick fought against the restraint, lunging forward. He was jerked backwards and Junior squinted as he pointed the gun at Nick, before turning his attention back to Sara. 

Junior picked up the curling iron and wrapped his hand around it, watching Nick. "I love the smell of burning flesh...don't you, angel? Think about what this could do to your sticky insides," he hissed as a nauseating smell reached Sara's nostrils accompanied by the sizzle of the hot metal meeting his skin. 

Sara whimpered, looked towards Nick, begged him with her eyes not to do anything sudden. 

"Sa-ra. Sa-ra," Junior sing-songed, forcing the barrel of his gun up under her chin, forcing her to look at him. "What is _love_? Love, unconditional love, means that you would sacrifice yourself for someone else, someone that you _love_. It can't be quantified, or justified, but it's there, because we _sacrifice_," he rambled. "Are you ready, Sara?" 

Sara nodded, biting her lip to keep from crying out. 

"What is your greatest love? Is it this man? It is, isn't it?" 

Sara nodded again, hot tears coursing down the sides of her face, gravity pulling them out towards her ears. 

"_Say it_," Junior's gun was at her temple. 

"He's my greatest love," she blurted immediately. 

"No!" Nick cried.

"One more sound and I'll shoot," the dark voice whispered behind his ear. The gun cocked, and Nick looked on miserably as Junior smirked. 

"Do you know what happens if you turn me in?" 

Sara nodded again, not trusting her voice. 

"I'm going to tell you anyway," Junior said, emitting a sick giggle. "The man Stan over there, the man with the plan," he used his gun to gesture to his partner. "He's going to draw and quarter Mr. Stokes with a team of four horses. Would you like to find his head in your bed? He's going to rip his flesh off in long strips and eat them one by one. He's going to drag his body across hot coals and sodomize him with this same curling iron. Gives a whole new meaning to pain in the ass, huh?" 

A low cry escaped her throat as she stared across the room to Nick in anguish. 

"Are you ready to make the Choice?" he too, cocked his gun, and pointed it at Sara again. 

Sara could only shake her head in response. 

"Who will be the sacrificial lamb, my sweet angel? You or Nick? Nick or you?" He hummed the jeopardy tune in her ear. 

"I am," she croaked. "Don't hurt him." 

Junior jerked his head back over towards Nick. "Didja hear that, Nicky boy? You wanna watch? Tick tock, tick tock, Nicky." 

"I'm not leaving her," he forced himself to say. 

"Wouldn't want you to miss the fun," Junior grinned. He stood to unzip his pants, not relinquishing his gun. 

The door to the bedroom burst open, and Junior stepped back, and aimed. A shot rang out, and Nick fought to see in the darkness who had been shot. Sensing his opportunity, he shoved an elbow into the stomach of his captor, not an easy feat considering he was handcuffed. His attacker dropped his gun and Nick dropped like a stone on top of it. Junior Caldwell was on the floor, facing him, his gray eyes bloody. 

Nick jerked back just in time to see a sick pair of red eyes staring back at him. 

"Sweet Mother of God," he gasped, wishing he could cross himself. 

Another shot rang out, and Nick realized as the kid was flung backwards that the bullet had hit him in the shoulder. Spinning around, desperately, feeling foolish and needing to get to Sara, he yanked himself across the floor to the side of the bed. 

Yates stepped over Junior Caldwell's body towards Sara and knelt next to her, releasing her bonds. Davis skittered into the room on one foot, and immediately took in the scene with sick horror. 

"Uncuff me!" Nick demanded, and wordlessly, Davis dropped to his knees and got out the keys to his cuffs. He couldn't stop surveying the sick display and Nick thrust his hands backward at Davis to get his attention. Davis's hands trembled as he released Nick. Nick shot up and was over to Sara's side in seconds. 

He pulled her into his arms, pulling a throw from the chair by the bed to wrap it around her. He lifted her off the bare mattress and into his arms. Emotionally exhausted, he wasn't sure his knees wouldn't give out. 

For the first time, he heard the sirens on the street and saw the flashing lights from the gauzy curtains of the bedroom. Stumbling across the floor of the bedroom, he stepped across Junior and towards the door. Sara's hands were weakly clutching at his neck, and he knew he had to get her to a hospital.

He barely made it down the hall past the rush of officers and paramedics. He carried her all the way out of the house and only let her go to put her on a gurney. He followed her into the back of the ambulance, and watched the melee unfold behind him as the ruby and sapphire lights lit up the street as they departed. 

TO BE CONTINUED, and indeed, finished. Shortly. 


	11. The Choice, part 11

The Choice, chapter 11

As the ambulance pulled away from the curb, Sara reached for Nick, and he scooted closer to her, to the consternation of the paramedic, and allowed her to wrap her arms around his neck. 

"She's more scared than hurt," Nick assured him, breaking free just long enough to pull his ID and badge out of his pocket and show them to the EMT. Nick held her all the way to the hospital, allowing the medic to work around them as best he could, taking her temperature, her blood pressure and vitals. 

"I have to pee," Sara whispered and Nick softly laughed in relief. 

"As soon as we get to the hospital," he promised. 

"You won't leave me, will you?" Her normally strong voice trembled. 

"No," Nick squeezed her tighter to him. "No, I'll never leave you." 

"You came for me," Sara whispered. "You were going to stay with me." 

"I never would have...not ever," he murmured into her hair, noticing the thick coat of blood on her tresses. He reached for a towel, and held it to the back of her head tenderly, kissing her temple gently. 

"I..." the exhaustion finally got to Sara, and she began to cry. Nick shushed her and rocked her, kissing her brow or temple occasionally, not wanting to release her. When the ambulance pulled up at the entrance to the emergency room, Nick held Sara's hand while they led her into the examination room. Because she wasn't critical, Nick was allowed to stay with her, even though the doctor insisted that she lay down. He'd gave Sara a mild sedative to calm her, and it kicked in very quickly, for Nick had a hard time even keeping her standing as they made their way to the bathroom and back. Nick stayed with her as she fell asleep, then rose to pull closed the curtain around her bed. 

The nurse came in, and allowed Nick to help give Sara a quick sponge bath before pulling her in to a hospital gown. They put in an IV to help replenish lost liquids, and Nick knew that Sara would grouse in the morning when she woke up. The nurse bandaged the wound on the back of Sara's head, and Nick noted with relief that it wasn't a serious cut. 

He was so angry with himself for not knowing sooner, for not seeing the pieces falling into place. Bryce Caldwell dropping off the missing files earlier that day, specifically, three files, neatly devoid of any remarkable information: his own, Alex "Junior" Caldwell, and Kelly Caldwell Leads. 

Even if he hadn't been able to figure out it was Junior, he should have known the killer was close, and that Isabel approaching Sara at the funeral definitely would have sent up red flags to the attacker. Junior and Sara had been "buddies," there was no telling what "personal" information she'd given him about Mr. and Mrs. Sark and their activities. And then, there was, of course, the fact that Junior had already known about them, both of them. Probably from Bryce, probably because Bryce Caldwell was in on it, though Nick couldn't prove it. He hoped the situation was enough to strip Caldwell of his job anyway. 

The biggest mystery, of all, however, proved to be that of the "accomplice" and his involvement in the rest of the case. While at one time Sara and Nick had considered the partner angle, it had been all but discarded since the night of their disastrous "surveillance" of Yates. 

Nick's mind raced. And Yates! Where had he come from? There wasn't enough money in the world to repay John Yates for bursting in at just that moment. Granted, Davis and Reinhardt hadn't been that far behind, but the incredible amount of courage to come flying through that door, knowing Sara was in danger, knowing he was putting his own life in danger. Nick could only idly wonder why Yates had been there. There would be plenty of time for answers, questions, interrogations and interviews after he determined Sara was unhurt. 

Nick, too, fell into fitful sleep in the armchair by her bedside, awakening only to Sara's stirring. He was there, ready, when she awoke, bright and alert, wanting to reassure her that he had not left her. 

"Mmm," she sighed, almost happily. "I had the best dream," she sat up straighter, and as she realized where she was and why she was there, her neck weakened enough to cause her head to roll back. Grabbing the bedpan from the side table, she dry-heaved the very little bit of her stomach contents into the metal pan. 

Nick wet towels at the small sink and came to wipe her mouth gently when she was done, and then take the pan over to the sink to run water into it. He sat down next to her again, and pushed the call button for the nurse. 

He used another wet cloth to tenderly wipe her sweaty forehead and neck. He found her purse, which had been delivered courtesy of RPD Officer Matthews, along with Nick's personal effects from the rental car that he had abandoned on the Maxwell's street. He found her hairbrush, and gingerly brushed her hair, pulling it up into a ponytail. As he was doing this, the doctor entered and talked with Sara. 

"I'd like to give you a SART, Mrs. Sark," he said, reading off of her chart. 

"I wasn't sexually assaulted," Sara shook her head in weak argument, but the doctor stopped her protests with a palm in the air. 

"You were unconscious, at some point, according to the medic. That's enough. Mr. Sark can either stay or go." 

"I won't leave her," Nick wet his dry lips as the doctor pulled up a rolling stool. The nurse wheeled in a cart with the necessary items, and the doctor gently conducted the exam, doing all of the things Sara normally did for her victims: blowing hot air onto the speculum, warming the gel, encouraging with soft words as Sara writhed in discomfort. Nick held her face very gently in his hands, looked into her frightened eyes, and sweetly asked her to calm down. 

When the test was completed, the doctor confirmed there didn't seem to be evidence of sexual trauma, but prescribed her some sedatives and muscle relaxers before releasing her into Nick's care. 

The nurse insisted on wheeling Sara out of the ER, and Nick insisted on carrying her to the cab that the staff had thoughtfully called. Sara, for once, didn't argue, and Nick continued to hold her until they reached the apartment. He prepared their bed as Sara showered, and when she got out, he waited for her to dress before helping her into bed. He almost couldn't believe prickly Sara was letting him assist her in this way, but didn't comment. 

She was asleep again within a matter of minutes, and after checking to make sure all the windows and doors were locked, Nick finally felt safe enough to take a shower of his own. He didn't dally, and pulled on a clean pair of boxers before collapsing into the bed next to his love. She looked innocent, very soft and approachable in her sleep, and Nick knew he wanted to watch her like this for as long as he could, for as long as she would let him, for the rest of his life. 

Sara awoke to the sound of Nick's soft snores, and she stared over at him blankly, wondering what she'd ever done to deserve such a good man. She'd survived. She'd survived; she had to tell him. She had promised God that she would tell him, if only she survived. 

"Nick," she whispered, unable to let him sleep a moment longer. "Nick!"

"Huh? What?" Nick sat straight up in the bed, then turned to look down to her as she sat up, too. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm okay," she nodded. "I'm going to be okay. I forgot," her voice wavered. "I forgot to tell you that I love you." 

Nick sighed in relief, wrapped his arms around Sara's back, holding her closely to him. "I knew," he murmured against her temple. He placed a soft kiss there and then laid back down, pulling Sara with him. They laid together in the dark, their bodies touching, their hearts warm, and their souls mingling softly in the sweet understanding of eternity. 

The following morning, Nick knew they had to go to the police station, whether they were ready or not. Both he and Sara got dressed in the walk-in closet, turned away from each other as they chose the best attire for the day. Nick didn't bother to make coffee, or breakfast, as Sara wasn't sure if she could hold anything down anyway.

The drive to the station house seemed impossibly short, though the cab was traveling at the slowest speed possible without being pulled over for reckless endangerment. Going straight in to the Chief's office, they joined the chief and the mayor for briefing. 

"Good work, Sark," Chief Abernathy said gruffly. The mayor also shook her hand, and Sara found the courage to smile weakly in return. 

"Kelly Leads is in interrogation now, Room 1. John Yates and Ted Pemberly are in Room 2. IA Captain Lark is questioning Davis and Reinhardt in the Captain's office. And the other suspect," he consulted his clipboard, "Kieran Caldwell, is being questioned by IA Sergeant Campbell in Room 4."

"Where is Junior?" Sara finally found her voice. 

"In the morgue," the mayor raised his eyebrows. 

"And Bryce Caldwell?" Nick queried hesitantly. 

"He's also being held for questioning in relation to these events," Abernathy said bluntly, tossing the clipboard onto the desk. "Blevins and I," he gestured towards the mayor, "are meeting with Lark, Davis and Reinhardt. If you'll excuse us," he left the room and the Mayor stopped to shake Sara's hand again. She felt strengthened knowing Nick was at her back, ready to catch her if she fell. 

They worked their way through the unusually quiet bullpen, past desks with quiet officers, watching them pass, but trying hard to look busy. Sara slipped into the observatory of Room 1, watching as Captain Yessen questioned Kelly Leads. 

Behind the mirror, Sergeant Danielle Steel was watching the proceedings with disdain. She stepped forward to shyly embrace Sara, before pulling back and briefing both Sara and Nick on the status of the interview. 

"Kelly already gave up Junior and Bryce. You know her kid; you've probably seen him around the station, the albino? It's _Bryce's_ kid," Danielle shuddered. "Junior saw it happen, so young, it must have been..." she trailed off. "They've got her kid in one of the other rooms. That's what she keeps calling him, _her kid_." 

Sara only stayed a few minutes, listening to Kelly's lawyer sputter in protest at some of Yessen's questions, and Kelly's calm answers. She was getting out while the getting was good, revealing everything. 

Sara and Nick drifted to the second interview, where Yates and Pemberly were sitting together, their hands intertwined. They were hushed as they slipped in just in time to hear Yates explain how he'd been following Sara since the moment she'd left the hospital after seeing Pemberly. Yates knew something was going on, he admitted, because he, too, could not determine why exactly, the new Captain of Vice had been sent to question a rape victim. 

IA Officer Bell was behind the mirror, along with one of the Homicide Sergeants, monitoring the interview. Bell advised them that Yates and Pemberly were in the process of adopting a child from Cambodia, and that was the reason there had been such secrecy in the days preceding the attacks. They couldn't risk being exposed as lovers, as a family. Nick and Sara stayed to watch behind the glass until they stopped for a break. Before Nick or Bell or anyone could stop her, Sara burst through the door of the interrogation room, and went to throw her arms around John Yates. Yates awkwardly held her back, and then as he relaxed, he returned the hug fully. He began to nod, and Nick watched in fascination as tears began to roll down his cheeks. Sara was still holding him, whispering to him, and even Pemberly was starting to look teary. 

Finally, they released one another, and Sara reached out to wipe tears of Yates's face, wiping them off onto her jeans. The outburst had taken everyone by surprise; Nick's mouth was still hanging open when she re-entered the room, after swiftly hugging Pemberly as well. She smiled gently at him before taking his hand and pulling him out into the hall. They crossed the corridor into the fourth examination room, where behind the one-way mirror, they could see the sullen face of Kieran Caldwell. 

Sara saw Junior's "nephew" clearly for the first time, his "almost-white" hair indeed very white under the fluorescent light of the room, and his skin a milky shade of marble with not so much as a freckle or blemish to mar the effect. 

"Did you know that it's a myth that all albinos have red eyes? While some have pink or violet eyes, most have blue and some even hazel or green. This kid's got blue eyes, and he just wears these sick red ones to freak people out," IA Officer Kendrick held up the contact case for Sara's inspection as she came to stand next to Kendrick in front of the mirror. Indeed, the teenager's eyes were the most amazing shade of cobalt, but Nick now knew why he'd looked up to see the bright red eyes during the attack. For a moment, his mind had flashed back to all the lore and stories his parents and older siblings had told him as a child, vampires and boogymen with blood-red eyes and long fangs. Knowing the truth made him feel a little silly, but that embarrassment was dispelled when he looked back up to see Kieran Caldwell glaring at the glass as if he saw them standing there. 

His shoulder was bandaged where he'd been shot, and his court-appointed attorney was instructing him not to answer any questions. Kieran didn't even know his uncle had been killed; though Nick would have been happy to volunteer to tell the little bastard. What kind of a sick fuck would take a child along to rape someone? 

Sara nodded, and Nick was brought back to the present as Kendrick advised them the DA wanted to try the kid on three counts of Rape, one count of murder in the first degree, as well as conspiracy charges. The DA wanted him tried as an adult, and it would only be a short matter of time before the request was granted, Kendrick predicted. 

Sara couldn't watch anymore, so Nick escorted her back out to the hall, where they passed Lacy McReynolds and Mackey Charles going out the back door, looking tired after their interviews. While no one had indicated they were now willing to give statements, Sara knew that was the case. Neither of the women looked at Sara or Nick as they passed, and Sara wasn't sure she could blame them. 

Isabel Shepard had been pulled in for further questioning, as well. Sara knew it was only a matter of time before she and Nick were cornered and was forced to give their statements. Wanting to avoid a scene, Sara found paper and pens for both of them in the supply cabinet at the end of the hall.

Slipping into one of the empty interrogation rooms, they both sat pensively with pads of yellow legal paper and wrote out pages and pages of testimony. Sara filled up almost thirty pages of a recounting of the facts, from the beginning of the investigation to an additional six pages about the attack alone. Nick bested her with an even thirty-eight pages, recalling everything from their first encounter with Bryce Caldwell to getting into the ambulance outside of Maxwell's home. 

Officer Delaney in transcription raised curious eyebrows at them when they turned in their pads, and handed over the transcriptions of the interviews with McReynolds and Charles, already completed. Sara realized with a start that they had been writing for nearly five hours straight. The station house was still quiet, and she and Nick slipped into chairs that were lined up on the edges of the hall to read the taped interviews of the other two victims. 

Nick started with McReynold's interview, and was sickened to find her Choice had been her own attack or the rape and murder of her young daughter, who was epileptic and mentally retarded. The details were enough to make him nauseated, and when he and Sara traded folders, he was relieved to find the Charles file to be a little less harrowing. Mackey Charles's Choice had been her own attack or an attack on her darling husband, Peter. She'd obviously left some of the more graphic details out of her statement, and Nick was secretly grateful. 

Nick recalled Isabel Shepard's interview, and her Choice. Her own attack, or the rape and murder of her beloved partner, Max. He knew she'd been desolated after learning of her partner's fate, having kept quiet to prevent it, only to find it hadn't helped. Isabel, too, had a husband and a child, and at some point during the attack, she had wondered why Max would be her Choice. It was only later, long after she'd left Reno to go home, that she realized how uncanny it was that Junior would have known Max was her weak link. She confirmed, of course, that she would have made the same decision had her Choice involved her family, but it was the threat on Max that truly shook her to the core. 

Sara and Nick abandoned the confessions on the secretary's desk and proceeded to exit out of the side door to the station, not stopping. Nick found both of the rental cars in the police impound, and he showed their badges to have them released. He called Enterprise and waited for them to come and pick up one of the cars. Sara stood next to him in the parking lot, silent. He held her hand for a while, then wrapped an arm around her shoulder as they waited. 

They still had to wrap up the case. Abernathy wanted Sara to speak to the female officers, inform them of the case and recommend that they all retake weaponless defense courses. They of course, would also have to come back to testify at Kieran Caldwell's trial, but that was months away now. 

Nick had already put them on a flight out at four the next afternoon, and come hell or high water, he was determined to get them home. 

TO BE CONTINUED...and concluded in the epilogue, coming very soon. 

Notes to my loyal readers: Thank you so SO much for coming on this "journey" with me, I know some of you probably thought this would *never* end, LOL. I'm so thankful for you reviews and feedback; just a note from one of you can frequently make my day brighter. 

It's important for me to say: one_ in three _women are assaulted at some point in their lifetime. Carry Mace. Don't be afraid to use it. Take a class in weaponless defense. Don't be afraid to use that, either. Don't talk to people you haven't been introduced to. Never go into the home of a person that you don't know. Don't accept rides from strangers. Never accept a drink or food from a stranger. Never go into areas that are not well lighted. Never walk alone at night. Women have to protect themselves, and the best way to do this is to be prepared. 


	12. The Choice, epilogue

The Choice, epilogue

Sara and Nick were rewarded with some very curious looks walking down the halls of CSI. They were careful not to openly touch, but both made a concerted effort to walk too closely together, affording them frequent opportunities to brush arms and shoulders. Sara wondered curiously how she'd ever managed to keep her hands to herself. Being at work with Nick, every day, but not necessarily working _with_ one another made the nights together so much hotter. 

For Sara, having that forced period of separation for the sake of decorum made her that much more eager to get down with him once they got home and the blinds were closed. She stopped off at Grissom's office while Nick bade her goodbye to wander off in search of Warrick. 

Grissom had, for all intents and purposes, been pissed when he found out Sara and Nick had been sent undercover. Once he obtained copies of their reports, he spent the next few days practically in isolation, talking only to Catherine, and only when it was necessary. His demeanor had eventually improved, and by the time it was necessary for Sara and Nick to take a leave of absence in order to testify, things had almost returned to normal around the lab. 

Sara invited herself into Grissom's office, pulling the door shut, watching him shoot her a curious look as she began to investigate his shelved collection. He was still on the phone with Sheriff Atwater five minutes later when she sat down in the chair across from his desk with a loud sigh. He frowned at her, and she gave him an apologetic look. He continued to calm Atwater for another minute before rolling his eyes and hanging up practically mid-sentence. 

"The-man-whose-time-is-more-important-that-everyone-else's?" Sara asked with a knowing smirk. 

"Indeed," Grissom nodded and turned to her, looking over the tops of his glasses at her, though she looked a bit fuzzy that way. 

"The beard looks good, boss," Sara noted, grinning because she knew Grissom hated being called "boss." 

"How was trial? You're obviously back sooner than we expected you." 

"It was short," Sara shrugged. "They got Mackey Charles and Lacy McReynolds on the stand, and before Isabel Shepard or I could even testify, this kid's lawyer had him pleading out so fast your head would spin. I didn't think the DA would take it, but the kid's got life in prison instead of death, so some would say the day ended well." 

"I see," Grissom answered, taciturn. Remembering his promise to himself to become more involved, he continued awkwardly. "So...you're doing...well...uh, since the attack?" 

"I'm okay," Sara's smile was caught somewhere between reluctant and bitter. "Nick and Catherine convinced me to talk to the psychologist for a while. I see her once a week, sometimes less. It's been better," she nodded, idly running her fingers along some paperwork hanging off the edge of Grissom's desk. 

"You were worried you would have to see her more after the trial?" Grissom asked astutely. 

"I wondered," Sara confessed. "It wasn't pleasant, listening to those cops testify, and then watching that kid sitting at the defense table, looking angelic. It made me sick." 

"Your report said he enhanced his appearance during the attacks by wearing colored contacts?" Grissom asked, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. 

"Red ones," Sara nodded. "Most people who suffer from albinism have dark blue or light pink eyes, very few have the blood-red eyes that have made the stereotype of the albino. But this kid was just sick." 

"I see," Grissom said again, thoughtfully. 

"So I guess I just stopped by to tell you I was back," Sara moved to leave. 

"Sara...wait." Grissom hadn't planned on asking her to stay, but now that he had, he couldn't back down. He promised himself during his recovery that he would try—try harder to bridge this chasm between them. His affection for Sara had been growing, and he hadn't lied to her when he'd said he didn't know what to do about that affection and her advances. But his surgery had given him another chance. He hadn't expected to feel so young, and rejuvenated. Losing thirty pounds helped too, as did the beard and the new glasses and coloring his hair. He'd been more conscious of his looks than he'd ever been before in his life. Top it off with a new sports car and he'd be a man in the throes of a mid-life crisis. But maybe his mid-life crisis didn't require a new sports car. Maybe it only required Sara. 

"Yes?" she was looking at him, one eyebrow gracefully arched, her body poised forward in the chair. 

"Sara...I've been thinking, about the offer you made me at the beginning of the summer. Dinner? I was wondering if I could still accept that invitation? That is, if it's not too late?" Grissom's practically hopeful gaze hurt Sara more than she wanted it to. 

"Grissom," Sara stopped him before he could go on. "I've...I've moved in with Nick." 

Grissom's jaw dropped and Sara continued. "I don't know what's going to happen, or if it's even going to work, but we've just connected, and I have to see it through. I have to find out if this is what is right for me. If it's meant to be," she met his eye plainly, almost as if she was daring him to object or contradict. 

"I see," Grissom said, a third time. 

"I never expected it, or intended for it to happen, and I can't explain it..." 

"I'm not sure that you need to," Grissom interrupted. "I think I understand quite clearly. It is, in fact, too late." 

"Yes, but it wasn't to spite you," Sara babbled. "What I mean is, I didn't do it just to get back at you or mock you in any way, it just sort of sprung up practically out of nowhere, and I had to lunge for it." 

"Well," Grissom was quiet, unaccustomed to such outbursts in his usually silent office. 

Sara came around to Grissom's side of the desk, and he stiffened immediately. She leaned over until they were at eye level. "Grissom, you're still my best friend, and I don't want this...thing between me and Nick to come between me and you. If I thought it was going to..." 

Sara looked torn, and her she bit her lip, unsure of how to continue. 

"There is no need to worry," Grissom reached out as if to touch her face, but withdrew his fingers before the action had been completed. Sara searched his face, looking for sincerity, and Grissom mustered the kindest smile he could. 

Sara smiled in return and hugged him intensely, for just a moment, without giving him a chance to relax. She backed up and was half way out of the office before he found his voice again. 

"I'll expect to be notified should your living arrangements...change," his odd smile and the cock of his head were uniquely Grissom's, and Sara couldn't believe he'd said it. 

"I'll have the change-of-address forms on your desk the moment it happens, if that time ever comes."

"Tell the guys I'll be in the breakroom in a minute. I just have to finish up here," Grissom gestured to his paperwork before she left the room. He couldn't be sure, but he thought that maybe she winked at him before sailing out and down the hall towards the other end of the lab. 

When arrived in the break room, he saw his entire team assembled and happy for the first time in longer than he could remember. Warrick and Sara were plainly flirting over who would get the last cup of coffee, Catherine was amused, reading her magazine, and Nick was hurriedly filling out the crossword puzzle, a smile playing at his lips. 

Grissom cleared his throat and was inwardly delighted to see four happy faces turn to meet his. He smiled brightly, serving only to encourage his subordinates. 

"Another full plate tonight, guys. Warrick and Sara, you have a 419 in Henderson, Nick, you also have a dead body, Room 816 of the Sphere, Vega's there waiting for you, and Catherine, you and I have yet another 419 at 6548 Wimple Street, home of a Mr. and Mrs. Carson Glover." 

He stepped back and watched as the team disassembled, Nick and Warrick promising to hook up later, a quick kiss shared by Nick and Sara, and Catherine gathering up her belongings, trying hard not to stare at Warrick's muscled backside. He knew that Catherine had been right, this was his family, and he only benefited from the connection they shared. He stopped by the DNA lab to tell Greg to grab his coat, and the six of them headed out to the parking lot, talking and laughing. 

He, too, had been given a Choice, though far less grisly or overt as the one Sara had been given, but a choice nonetheless, and he knew now that he couldn't squander it. 

Early the next morning, Sara was sitting up in bed; her reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, her hair in a high bun on the top of her head. She had a forensic magazine propped against her thighs, her knees bent. She was trying to multitask by applying her lotion at the same time, not paying attention as Nick padded through the house, locking doors, turning off lights, and checking the windows. He shut the door to the bedroom, and opened the top drawer of their bureau, making sure the loaded gun was where it always was, nestled among his socks, ready for any intruder that dare enter the Stokes-Sidle domain. 

He too, noticed Sara for the first time, her lotion now back on the bedside table, her beautiful mouth twisted into a frown as she skimmed through the article. She scratched her leg. The nightie she wore had long, silky spaghetti straps that just wouldn't stay up, so both were around her shoulders, giving him a decent view of her bare breasts underneath. Sitting up so pertly, her glasses and hair making her look just a shade more proper than she was. 

"Why Madame Librarian, what reading material did we bring to bed?" Nick's voice was low and sultry. Sara recognized the tone and decided to play along. 

"Forensic Science in Everyday Life," she answered shortly, holding it up for him to see briefly, pretending to be much distracted. 

"Hmmm, can you direct me to the reference materials?" Nick asked as he crawled up onto the bed, moving over on his knees to where she sat. 

"I think you, Mr. Stokes, have a late fine," she didn't look away from her periodical. 

"What kind of punishment does that come with these days?" Nick asked, grabbing her hand and falling back onto the bed, pulling her over to lie across him. He met her mouth in a fiery kiss. Reaching up, he dislodged the hair accessory that was keeping her bun in place, making her dark hair curtain around his face. 

"Mmmm," Sara replied, taking off her glasses without breaking the kiss and managing to toss them onto the table on Nick's side of the bed. "I think you have enough to make a payment today," she panted when they broke apart. And with that, she turned off the light. 

FINIS. 

Thanks for reading, guys, and thank you for all your sweet reviews! 


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